


Friday Night Lights

by ghostbusters



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Football, M/M, Other, Sports, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-29 16:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostbusters/pseuds/ghostbusters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sports movies and high school share one main thing: melodramatic teenagers. Armin Arlert and his merry band of misfits definitely fit the bill. The bright lights of the football stadium change many things for studious and reserved Armin, pulled into a world far away from his standard bowling alley Friday night hangouts with his small group of friends. The time of passively watching life from the sidelines is over.<br/>(REWRITE!!!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I can tell that we are gonna be friends

**Author's Note:**

> DIRECTOR'S CUT!! THIS IS A REWRITE. OLD CHAPTERS AND COMMENTS HAVE BEEN DELETED. ALL UPDATES WILL CONTINUE HERE :)))))))

Armin Arlert has less than twenty minutes to get a grip and pull his shit together.

Junior Year. Tagline: full of dread and feelings of distraught panic. Armin fell onto his bed and screamed into his pillow.

He'd only gotten as far as putting his pants and socks on before giving up completely and lapsing into a bout of lost nerves. Once his muffled screams ceased, he resumed pacing around his torn through bedroom. There were more articles of clothing strewn across his sheets than hanging in his closet. While the first day of the school year is never the most enjoyable of days, the first day of an incredibly pivotal educational year at a new school district revved up the awful factor a few extra levels.

One would assume this would all be routine by the eleventh year. Two of them already completed in high school. The countless teen movies Armin was obsessed with should have been an adequete guidebook for any situation thrown in his face. New school? Easy. Didn't feel that way. The comfortable run of his teenage years reached their peak to tip over into the typical third quarter melee, the second down, the seventh inning stretch... were these bad things? Like he knew any sports metaphors and let alone ones that were applicable for his situation. Should have gone with a horror movie analogy, that was the appropriate route. Armin loved those too but it didn't mean he wanted to be living in one.

He was overreacting. Plain and simple.

It wasn't that Armin wasn't a hopeless case. He wasn't incredibly shy or a bad student or even the anxiety-ridden loner. Maybe a smidge of the later but mostly he was accustomed to flying under the radar. He was safe, unnoticed for the most part, and dead set in line to be top of his graduation class. That was the part that upset him the most. His friend Eren claimed it was an ego thing but really, all that hard work- gone. Trost High was much larger than his hundred or so year class at Shinganshina District. A class of nearly four times that amount was a daunting undertaking to even consider conquering.

Armin groaned and flailed around a little more on his bed before he worked up the heart to finish putting on the rest of his clothing while his troubled mind raced. Call him vain, it didn't matter, but the first day outfit completely set the tone for the school year. He needed to blend in casually while looking somewhat professional so the teachers could see that he took himself seriously, but wasn't trying to outdo everyone. At least at the beginning, then he could ease into the slightly eccentric pieces from his thrift-store wardrobe. Dressing a bit oddly but maintaining a collected and reserved attitude would keep him level. Advice he was sure he picked up from some article online. Oh, the more he thought about it the less it made sense.

His grandfather shook his head as his grandson muttered and yelled one last time on the way out the door to catch the bus. That boy ain't right.

Armin hopped from one foot to the other while he waited for the bus, trying to distract himself from the inevitable spiral of hopelessness destined to swallow him whole. He stopped jumping as the bus rounded the corner and wondered at which point in his life he'd become such a little drama queen.  
\- - - - - - -  
Before he could brace himself for reality, Armin was in the brightly-lit auditorium of his new school clenching his teeth and trying not to panic. He stood at the back and scanned the trickling-in groups of students entering the room and finding seats. Should have made a plan, should have made a plan to meet, where the hell was he supposed to sit. Where were they?

“ARMIN! HEY! DOWN HERE!”

Ah. There he was. Armin all but ran down the main aisle to where his two best friends were seated. He did run a little actually. Bless whatever deity gave a shit for allowing him not to trip. Eren waved animatedly until Armin sat down in the spare seat next to him and the third member of their tiny squad, Mikasa. Eren jabbered on about nothing of worth while Mikasa scolded him to stop shouting so much. The beady-eyed teacher leaning against the wall was eying Eren and his yelling with disdain.

“Beats our moldy old school, eh? These digs are nice.”

Moldy was the appropriate word for the asbestos-filled high school building the three used to attend. It was torn down over the summer and a portion of the small student population was absorbed into the newly renovated and accommodating Trost district nearby. Armin was incredibly grateful that his group lucked out and all ended up in the same new district.

“It is a bit splashy in here. For a school auditorium.”

“Trost has money, dude. I'm not complaining.”

The lights dimmed and a school administrator took to the stage to welcome students to the new year (whether they wanted to be or not). After a stale attempt at invigorating school spirit the presentation launched into rules, regulations, and other items of disinterest sure to lull hundreds of tired teens to sleep. Really, who thought it was a good idea to dim the lights and drone on and on to a group of kids at half past seven in the morning?

Despite the boring subject matter, Armin was glad for the added buffer zone before the actual day started. It didn't hurt that the principal was also decent enough to look at as he blabbered on and on about who knows what. Armin zoned out enough to contently stare at the man while still tuning out his rambling. He would take whatever small blessings he could at this point. Eren, however, zoned out enough to have started snoring. The assembly had become too much for the poor boy.

Drool, was that drool? Definitely drool on Armin's cheek as Eren slumped over onto him.

“Eren. Eren.” Armin jostled him and tried to gently get his attention without drawing outside interest to the situation. “Hey. Mikasa. Help me.”

Mikasa gestured to push him over onto her. Just a small shove, which is what Armin intended. The small jab in the side caused Eren to jerk forward with a violent lurch, head banging off the back of the seat in front of him. He yelped loudly and grabbed onto the shoulder of the person sitting in the seat. Armin's face was now in his hands as he groaned at how quickly the plan went to hell. Mikasa was fighting off something halfway between a grimace and a laugh. It didn't look pretty.

“Huh? What the fuck do you think you're doing?” The guy Eren grabbed sputtered and pushed him back. “Fucking dumbass freshman.”

He scoffed and straightened his disheveled collar in annoyance but Eren was only raring up for a meltdown after the insult.

Armin whimpered. “Oh no. Not now.”

Eren yanked the back of the guy's letterman jacket and pulled him closer. “I'm not a fucking freshmen but even if I was I could still beat your ass through the floor.”

Mikasa leaned over to detach Eren's death grip on the collar as the angry jock turned to retaliate. Before either of them could proceed to a sure to be quite embarrassing scuffle, the teacher who had been brooding against the wall snapped his fingers in their general direction.

“Hey. Knock it off.”

“It's not my fault!” Eren whined loudly.

“Alright. Get up, brat. You're done here.”

Eren stood up with a gut reaction to make his case even worse. “Fuck you!”

The principal had paused in his monologue (still going strong) to acknowledge the commotion with a stern ' _quiet in the back please_ ' before soldiering onwards. Never give up, never surrender. All around the epicenter of the incident people were openly staring. Eren was beyond hope. He clambered over seated students while the teacher stood there seething in the aisle. He stormed out behind the man while eyes followed the dramatic display. Everyone then turned to Armin and Mikasa, the former trying desperate to dissolve into nonexistence. Mikasa compulsively looked between the smug, sandy-haired jock high fiving his friend and Eren being shoved up the aisle by Mr. 'Short, Sulky, and I Hate this Job.'

She continued to glance behind to the auditorium doors as if she expected Eren to prance through with the marvelous news that it was all some silly joke. Surprise! I'm not a fucking dumbass, so sorry to fool you. Yeah, right.

Still unrelenting, the principal continued to prattle on after a brief breather allowing another administer to speak for a moment. Even his soothing voice (too soothing as many students had fallen asleep) and unfairly chiseled jawline weren't enough to calm Armin anymore. He squirmed in new found discomfort after Eren's forced departure. That boy often pulled stunts like that- disappearing when he was needed most.

The jock in the row ahead kept turning around in what he thought was a subtle move to stare at Armin and Mikasa. Every blip of eye contact between them was growing increasingly weird. Was he going to go for a witty quip at some point or simply continue to fidget the entire assembly? Even a mumbled insult would be better than the present brand of awkwardness.

Oh, thank heavens on high, the devil, Buddha, or whatever the Mayans worshiped because the principal was finally finished speaking. Armin had slid so far down in his chair nearing the end of the speech that Mikasa had to physically drag him upright. The jock turned back once more with a look that seemed like he wanted to say something, instead shrugging before rushing to catch up with his friend.

Armin was glad he didn't get punched or anything.

\- - - - - - -  
The walk to homeroom was a test of Armin's remaining shaky nerves and final shards of sanity. Mikasa regretfully had to abandon him at a point once she found her locker and homeroom, leaving Armin to fight his way through the sea of bodies trudging along to face the day. Half of the students were falling asleep as they walked, still numb from the assembly. They all mourned the official death of summer vacation with uniform glassy eyes and cavernous yawning.

He finally found his locker and was feeling slightly less freaked out after he'd spotted a few familiar faces from his old school district who'd also transferred to Trost. Some had waved back to him while others apparently weren't interested in socializing with the dorky kid with the bad haircut who'd happened to be in their math class that one time. It was fine. At least a few people acknowledged him.

Homeroom was a complete zoo. The middle aged teacher was paying absolutely no attention to the classroom. Students sat chatting on top of desks while the group of girls by the wall took selfies together. For some reason, a group of boys in the middle were tossing balls of paper out of the windows and into the parking lot below, laughing hysterically at what they considered the apex of comedy. Armin rolled his eyes at the various antics of his peers and took a seat in the back of the room. He pulled out a book he'd brought along for this sort of occasion. Everything surrounding him faded away as he absorbed himself in the world written on the page.

A commotion interrupted his reading from outside in the hallway- someone was shouting for people to stop blocking his locker. The voice was all too familiar. Armin looked up from his book as the tell-tale signs of Eren Jaeger warned of his arrival before being sighted. The man himself groaned loudly as he entered the room, backpack dragging behind as he found his friend gesturing wildly at the open desk in the back.

“What happened? You were gone so long,” Armin asked. The look in Eren's eyes screamed pain and desired murder.

“Ohhhhh don't even get me started,” Eren groaned darkly.

Armin gave an exasperated look. “Fine. Don't tell me.”

“I'm getting there, you know I'll tell you. So, this school is the fucking worst! Some immature asshole had the nerve to pull me out of his way in the hall and broke my fucking backpack. I'm gonna kick his teeth in later, I'll remember his ugly rat face perfectly.” Eren slammed on the desk for emphasis with every swear.

“I was referring to the auditorium thing.”

“Yeah, I'm getting there! Now, actually. That teacher is a piece of work. I mean, ok, I get that he had to break it up before I destroyed that ass face but man, if only he hadn't been standing there!”

“So what did the teacher do?” Armin leaned forward, hanging on every word of enraged complaint. His friend could be quite entertaining when he was worked up. Which was often. Normally Armin would try to calm him down from a rage but he needed some entertainment at the moment.

“First he sat me down and stared at me. As if he was personally disappointed in me or something. Really creepy.” Armin nodded enthusiastically in agreement. “Then he slid into this annoying lecture about me being an embarrassment to the school and how much of a fuck up I must be if I was fighting on the first day. Dude actually called me a fuck up. What's wrong with this school?”

“Tell me about it...” Armin muttered, glancing around the room.

“Then he told me to leave his sight and wipe the tears off my face. What the hell!” Armin gave him a puzzled look. “What? Oh, stop. I wasn’t crying, are you serious? He was just being a dick.”

“That was it? No detention?”

“Surprisingly, no. Did that idiot in the auditorium say anything to you guys after I left? I swear I could have taken him, ripped away before I had my chance.”

Armin gave his biggest sigh of the morning. “Maybe try not to hit anyone on the first day?”

Eren could sense the desperation in his best friend. “You're right. I'll try. For you! Not any bullshit midget teacher.”

The first bell rang out and cut off the rebuttal Armin was about to sling back. Both boys gathered their things and braved the frantic masses in the halls. Eren said goodbye to Armin and angrily pulled his bag along the floor as he stormed off to German class. The two wouldn't match schedules again until lunch. Hopefully Eren would be calmed down by then and his own nerves would have dissipated.  
\- - - - - - -  
Art was his first class, a fond subject but not one he was very skilled at. He passed the time with a few sketches as the teacher went over the syllabus, which ended up being a mistake. The teacher caught a glimpse of the doodles and stopped him to talk at the class end. He was a nice enough teacher, but Armin grew antsy as the bell rang and the threat of being late for his next class increased.

By the time he jogged to his chemistry classroom, there were few open seats. He decided on the last completely empty table by the windows, glad the teacher wasn't even in the room yet since the bell had most definitely sounded again. One more late arrival strolled into class as if time wasn't an issue in his life, taking the seat at Armin's table.

Oh, shit. It was the jock from the auditorium. He still had that smug look plastered across his face as he sat down. Armin shifted in his seat, bringing a hand to hide his face, desperately trying to remain unnoticed.

“Quiet, class! Don't make me say it twice! I want to dive right into this sure to be fantastic year. Which you will find is a scientifically proven fact.” The teacher laughed to herself.

Armin's mouth was agape at this ridiculous woman bouncing around the front of the classroom.

“Now, don't think of me as simply your teacher, but as lead chemist on this new journey. And you are my new experiments!” The class all physically flinched at the comment. “I mean, experimenters. Not sure if that's a real word but hey, this isn't English class! Call me Dr. Zoe, hello. You can also say hello to your new lab partner for the year. Sharing a desk, sharing in the wonders of science! Now-”

Dr. Zoe launched into the course introduction, attempting to voice several thoughts at the same time as she started scribbling across the chalkboard. At this point, most of the class lost interest in the frightening display and and chatted among themselves. Armin was trying to copy down some of Dr. Zoe's notes, but he gave up as she kept erasing and rewriting parts faster than he could sufficiently read them. His head was spinning. The guy beside Armin nudged his side and leaned over, causing him to jolt about a foot in the air.

“Hey. I'm Jean. Last name's on the jacket.”

Armin narrowed his eyes and slowly glanced at Jean's back to read 'KIRSCHTEIN' embroidered in blue across the shoulders of the tan and white letterman jacket. Was this guy serious? Who in the history of human conversation introduced themselves like that? Jean looked at Armin expectantly.

“Oh. Armin Arlert. Is my name. I'm just wearing this shirt though, so no last name on my back today,” he winced as soon as he said it. Was it dumb? Was that a dumb thing to say? It sounded witty in his head but now he felt like an ass.

Despite how lame it was, Jean laughed under his breath.

“How much trouble did your big mouth friend get into for being a little shit this morning?”

“Eren? I don't know, he got yelled at a bunch by that short teacher apparently and I'll have to relive the entire story for the rest of the week. He never drops anything. So I probably got the worse end of it.”

Jean laughed out loud at that, clapping a hand over his mouth as soon as it happened. Not like Dr. Zoe was paying any attention, still lost in her own plane of existence. Huh. Armin wasn't used to people laughing at his poor attempts at humor and this boy had laughed twice so far.

Armin added in a quiet voice, “Although, it was mostly your fault he got in trouble.”

“Pssh. Really? I don't think so,” Jean said defensively. Armin hummed in response and turned away, but was nudged again. “Are you new here? Or like some fucking genius freshman taking this class?”

The continued conversation had Armin fidgeting. It was so unlike him to slack off in class, even on the first day. Readjusting to the unexpected was becoming the new theme of his life lately.

“I'm not a freshman. Junior. I'm with the Shinganshina transfer group.”

“That'll explain it. Know anyone who plays football?”

“What? Why?”

“I'm supposed to recruit people for tryouts next Friday. Thought you might know some people from your old school who might be interested.”

“I wasn't exactly on top of the social game over there, but I'll be sure to mention it to Eren for you.” Armin smirked at his own boldness, growing more confident now that this guy wasn't turning out to be a total jerk. He was a bit brash, but Armin could roll with it.

“Fucking hell, dude, please don't.” Jean laughed again and Armin found himself smiling at the returning sound.

The conversation died off after that and Armin resumed his doodles from the earlier art class. Jean watched in fascination and passed over his course schedule to compare any shared classes. They found that throughout the day, they would be sharing more than chemistry with one another.

“So are you any smart in this science shit?” Jean blurted out after glancing at some examples of formulas the class could expect to learn that Dr. Zoe was scrawling on the board.

“Am I what?” He resisted the urge to comment on the atrocious grammar of that statement. “I mean, sure. I'm decent.”

He was being modest, knowing full well it was his top subject, tied with statistics.

“Sweet. I'm going to need all the help I can get in this class. Kinda glad I was late and had to sit next to you, lab partner. Maybe we can study together or some shit.”

“Really?” Armin perked up at the offer, hesitant but intrigued. Thinking back on the display in his bedroom that morning, screaming into his bed, he'd never have imagined a potential friend in the works at the big scary school looming on the horizon. What a turn.

“Hell yes, dude. Not to brag, but I pretty much fucking rock at French so I've got that covered for us since we share that class later,” he said with a wink. Armin stared back skeptically. “What?”

“I'm... surprised we share that class?” The revelation that he and Jean shared Honors French was genuinely surprising to him.

Jean was highly insulted. He leaned closer and spat out a stream of angry French, “Tu pensais que j'étais juste un autre athlète stupide? Juste attendre. Yeaaaah. Exactly. Color you fucking surprised, asshole. There's more of that to look forward to in class so prepare to continue to have your mind blown.”

Armin had no idea how to react to this guy. He was crass, kind of pompous, but not entirely the meat-headed jock that he'd been pegged as from their encounter in the auditorium. What was that impressive linguistic display? Armin was a little jealous since he'd barely scraped by to get into Honors French. He wasn't awful, but languages weren't his natural forte. On paper it made sense but he faltered at the oral portions of language learning.

The bell rang and Jean was out of his seat with a bolt for the door, not bothering to say goodbye despite the extensive conversation during class. Dr. Zoe snapped out of her ramble at the scraping of desks and chairs from students leaving the room.

“Alright class! Good talk!”

\- - - - - - -

The two new lab partners also shared a history class together right before lunch. The lack of acknowledgment from Jean gave Armin a sinking feeling and it bothered him that he was bothered at all. Sure, he was let down by the fleeting glimmer of a new friendship, but he should have expected this sort of treatment. The only time people really paid attention to him at his old school was for course help here and there. New location, same story.

He couldn't help but steal glances when he could to where Jean and a boy in a matching letterman (BODT embroidered on the back) sat goofing off all period, flicking paper footballs at one another across their desks. He spent the other half pointedly ignoring the guy sitting next to him, eyes sneaking glances at the doodles that he decided to continue while half-listening to another pointless syllabus review. He'd lost interest in paying attention for the day, figuring he could easily read over the syllabus at home after school. First day jitters had been completely defeated by the weirdness of chemistry.

“You're really good,” the kid next to Armin whispered.

Armin cast a swift glance at the teacher before answering. “Thanks?”

“Can you draw me?”

The words that pained Armin to his core. He couldn't escape them even during his silly doodles. There were only so many times a person who draws could hear them before they felt the uncontrollable urge to snap their pencil in two and lodge it into their own skull to avoid dignifying the request with an answer.

He ended up doing a quick drawing of the guy and passed it over with disdain before the bell rang.

\- - - - - - -  
It was lunchtime and the trio were finally reunited. Eren was again ranting about the teacher who reprimanded him in the morning, who he'd later had for a geometry class. The teacher had apparently made Eren move to the front row after the moron tipped over in his chair while goofing off in the back, causing quite the commotion. Eren was not off to a smooth beginning for his junior year.

At least Mikasa managed to make a few friends, news that made Eren groan and Armin applaud. The three admittedly needed to spread their wings, having been practically attached at the hip since elementary school and entirely codependent. If there ever was a time, it would be with the new location of Trost.

As they were sitting at their table, Jean and a group of some other athletes walked by the trio. Jean caught Armin's attention this time, unlike in history class, and waved. Well, a quick little hand gesture at least and some sort of dopey look that may have been a smile but had morphed into a grimace when he caught sight of Eren. Regardless, Armin returned the wave wholeheartedly while Eren shot out of his chair with clenched fists and a fresh _fuck you_ ready to fall.

Mikasa sighed and shoved Eren back down.

“The nerve of that asshole, did you see that? Fucking waving at me after the stunt he pulled before. Ruining my damn day all over again!”

“Eren-”

“I swear if he gets in my shit again, he's DEAD.”

“Eren, he was waving at me.” Armin weakly pleaded. “We're lab partners. But maybe besides that, I'm an all around awesome guy who even the big deal football players want to be friends with. Probably that. What do you think, Mikasa?”

Eren fumed and Mikasa laughed. Shockingly, she added, “He's kind of cute.”

“Excuse me?” Eren spat, eyes narrowing in confusion. “He's a rude dick.”

“I hold my opinion.”

“Armin, back me up! He looks like a farm animal.”

Oh, he did not want to be brought into this conversation. His opinion on the male gender was a well kept secret from Eren and he hated playing moments like this off under pressure. Mikasa had found out in the previous year but was sworn to secrecy. She did enjoy the subtle reference every now and then, her current smirk was an indication of that as Armin floundered.

“I don't know. He looks like a guy, just a guy. Why, uh, why do you care anyway?”

“Yes. Calm down, Eren. Leave it alone. Eat your tater tots.” Mikasa sipped her chocolate milk and tried to end the conversation with an icy glare.

Eren playfully knocked his best friend gently in the arm. “It's whatever. But maybe you can slip him some poison or something in that chemistry class. Do me a solid if he tries to start something with me again, yeah?”

“I'll definitely look into it,” Armin deadpanned.


	2. i wanted to be with you alone

“ALRIGHT MEN,” Coach Shadis shouted, despite half the class being female, “time to get your scrawny asses in GEAR and prepare to play some got damn SOCCER! This is not nap time at the beauty salon! RUN!”

It was Wednesday. Still the first week of school but without that nice, distant feeling where students could pretend there was hope that they'd unfortunately imagined that the summer ended. Reality hit hard with the swift start of overly involved gym classes. Coach Shadis was apparently some ex-military vet who'd 'seen some shit,' as he put it. Or, screamed it inches from everyone's faces as they'd braced themselves on the gymnasium bleachers. Some kid named Connie had made the mistake of snickering during the guy screaming himself hoarse and was made to drop and do fifty push-ups. Right there, as he continued screaming. On the first day of school.

Another girl had gotten herself kicked out and made to stand in the hallway for eating a bag of chips in the back row. Armin's plan to survive was to stare at his knees and try not to blink too often. If you didn't move, the monsters couldn't find you.

Too bad none of that was useful when actual physical activity was demanded of them all.

The year was being kicked off with a unit on soccer. As expected, Armin was one of the last picks for teams but was unfazed. He wouldn't have picked him either, really, if he was a captain. If you honestly gave a shit about winning, there was no way anyone would willingly choose the short kid with scrawny legs for a soccer match. Armin had reconciled with the judgment by now. His perpetual doe-eyed expression of worry probably turned the assigned captains away from him as well. Although he knew he wasn't completely out of shape, there was no way anyone else would know that. It wasn't his thing.

“Out of the way!” Eren yelled, barreling across the gym to the flimsy plastic goals that had been set up. He was operating as a one man team, still fuming for being the actual last pick for teams. Jean was the chosen leader for one so he conspired with the other captain to make the boy suffer. This only caused Eren to play with a vendetta for blood. What a guy.

Armin paced around in the back near the wall, trying to stay out of the way and avoiding getting tackled by someone. This game had swiftly become more brutal than a gym class session of soccer had any business being. Shadis stood on the top of the bleachers in complete amusement, egging the clashing teams on, the sadistic son of a bitch that he was. Eren was running circles around the other players and trying to take the ball from some extremely tall guy. He was far more invested than anyone else. Well, other than Jean. Who was flailing near the far goal post, trying to set up a play.

“Bert! Pass it here!” Jean called from across the gym.

The tall,lanky fellow Eren had been jumping around tried to pass the ball away, but Eren was incredibly persistent. Like an annoying yappy dog or some buzzing mosquito. He finally managed to steal the ball away with some fancy footwork and yet another unneeded battle cry.

“Armin! You''re open for the goal, DO IT!!”

Big mistake. Eren kicked it over to the far side of the gym to Armin, who had been preoccupied with studying the patterns in the gym floor. Armin looked up at the call of his name and instantly panicked as the ball flew over in his direction. He reacted on instinct and kicked straight for the ball headed towards him as hard as he could. It sailed above everyone with a force that Armin, and everyone else, was shocked by, colliding with a light hanging from the ceiling. The light started flickering from above and everyone watched in fascination, soccer game forgotten. Armin had since ducked down and was awkwardly crouched on the gym floor, arms covering his head and cursing rapidly under his breath.

“ARLERT! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?” Shadis bellowed from the stands, eyes seeming to bulge from his face.

“I'm sorry sir! I panicked!” Armin instantly stood up and saluted, for some strange reason. He lowered his hand in embarrassment after he realized what he did.

“Someone do something about that damn light! Some pansy in here is gonna get a seizure.”

“I'm on it, coach.”

Eren took it upon himself to grab the soccer ball and lob it at the flickering light with as much strength as he could muster. He somehow managed to shatter the light bulb, causing stray glass to rain down on the class.

“Goddamn it, Eren.” Said no one specific. But everyone felt the sentiment.

Eren had detention after school. 

_\- - - - - - -_

“Dude! Nice kick today in gym! Nothing exciting like that ever happens in gym with Shadis. Fucking hysterical.” Jean nudged Armin during partner work in French class and for some reason reached over to ruffle his hair. Armin fought to keep his face under control at the contact and busied himself with fixing his bangs.  
  


“Thanks. I guess, thanks? Totally planned that, you know.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Jean laughed. “You play any sports?”

“I did T-ball in second grade? Hated it...”

“Absolute hilarity aside, that really was something in gym today.” He considered his words for a moment and then slid into a suspicious smile, causing Armin to feel a bit uneasy. Armin looked down after the silent, extended eye contact at the page of conversation examples they were supposed to be translating together.

He couldn't take the lingering stare any longer. “Uhhh, Jean?”

“Doing anything after school?”

“Why?”

“I want to try something.”

“Try what?”

“That'll ruin the mystique.”

Armin squirmed in his seat. Oh, why did Jean have to be so odd? It was so tempting to just shout YES to whatever this boy wanted from him, but he couldn't shake the feeling of needing to be on guard around a boy like this. His smile was easy and his laugh was quick, always blurting something out during class in a way that Eren could never master. Jean charmed teachers where Eren would test their patience. Armin had no problem speaking up in class, but that didn't mean his heart rate didn't beat a little faster in that split second before opening his mouth in front of everyone in the classroom. Jean simply stated things, like he was doing now, waiting for an answer.

“Tell me what we're doing and I'll think about it.”

“Aw, live a little, Arlert. Accept surprises. C'est la vie.”

“That's such a cliché.” Especially in French class, Armin mused.

“Aren't most things?” His eyes were piercing but so honest. “Fuck it. I want to see you kick a football.”

That gave Armin cause to recoil. He blinked hard and fought the urge to burst out laughing.

“You want to see me kick a football?”

“Remember how I told you I needed to recruit people for tryouts?” Armin nodded his head, mouthing 'oh no' simultaneously as Jean added, “Well this is me doing that.”

“Oh, no no no. I suck.”

“Tell that to that broken light.”

“Eren broke it, I only-”

“Kicked a soccer ball far and hard enough to short out the electrical wiring? In-fucking-sane, man.”

Armin continued arguing even as the bell rang. “Pure fear! Adrenaline at the sight of an object flying towards me!”

“Football is all about adrenaline! And maybe even a little fear!”

“I'd be broken in half out on the field!”

“The kicker is only in for a little while! You'd be fine!” Jean followed him as Armin headed to his locker.

“What if it was a fluke? And I kick it like three feet and everyone laughs at me?”

“Then you've kicked it three feet and you can go the fuck home. It'll just be you and me today anyway so... come on.”

“Jean. I'm not sure. Even if I manage to not make a fool of myself today, I,” he blurted out a very lame excuse, “have no way of getting home. I take the bus.”

“I'll drive you home.”

Armin groaned, almost worn down but still trying to deny interest and create a reasonable excuse. Jean got in his way across the path to his locker, one arm braced against the locker wall, totally in his personal space. Armin snapped his jaw shut and focused on breathing. This was all too much for his little gay heart to handle. Screw you, Jean whatever-the-name-on-his-jacket was. Screw you and your aesthetically pleasing face and kind but concerning interest in befriending him.

“I don't know you very well but you seem like you think things over too much. I don't get why you're so against trying this but... I think you want to. If you just get that stick out of your ass first.”

Armin could slap him, he really could. Fuck it, fuck him, fuck it all. “Damn it. Fine! Let's go kick the damn ball around and get this over with.”

Jean raised his dark eyebrows and gave him a toothy grin, smug as can be.

“Feisty. Alright. Knew you'd come around. Meet up with me at the practice field. Gotta drop something off with Marco first and pick up the equipment but I'll be there,” he pushed away from the wall and walked backwards down the hallway, tripping a little over someone in the process but playing it off, “and you'll be there! I swear to god if you bail on me, Arlert! I fucking swear!”

A little bit of breathless attraction and complete disbelief filled him as Armin watched Jean turn and saunter away, the only way to describe his walking style as he disappeared down the hallway. What an obnoxious tool. But what a source of conflict. There was a spark, an unfortunate spark igniting and it needed to be doused before the forest went up in flames. Hold the fire department on speed dial, we have a situation.

\- - - - - - - 

“When do you get out of detention?” Armin asked Eren as he walked with him to the cafeteria where the delinquents who managed to get in trouble were told to meet. He decided not to fill Eren in on what he was doing there after school. He wasn't fond of lying to his friend but didn't feel the need to rile him up before his detention. A phoney story about an extra credit project as a tutor was the lame excuse he gave Eren. He was such a predictable nerd that it was easily believed.

“No clue. It's with Mr. Ackerman so who knows when it'll be done. That guy is actually a really great teacher, first impressions aside, but I've heard rumors that he makes you clean the bathrooms and stuff for detention.”

“Pssh, I doubt that. He's not as extreme as Shadis would be. Just be glad he's not the one monitoring detention today.”

“They're both sadistic fucks though, teaching quality aside. The fucking teachers in this school, honestly! I thought them giving an actual crap about stuff here would be an improvement but this is just ughh.”

“Articulate as always. Go. Don't be late and wind up with another.”

“Yeah, I'd better run before Ackerman hands out all the _nice_ mops.”

They parted ways and Armin headed to where he figured the practice fields would be. Man, the building complex was massive. People weren't messing around when they claimed this school district was loaded. Big schools like this were infamous for spending huge portions of their budget on athletics and Trost was a textbook example of the educational bias in academic funding. After wandering for a distance, he spotted the girl's field hockey team gearing up to practice at their field. Armin felt like a creep just standing there as he worked up the nerve to go ask someone for directions. He had no idea which field could Jean have been referring to since it was all open grass back here. The football stadium stood out on the other side of campus but Jean had specifically mentioned the practice field, as if Armin was expected to know instantly where he was to meet.

His lingering presence must have given away his thoughts as a petite blonde girl from the team approached him.

“Need something? You look lost,” she giggled. She actually giggled.

“Well, my, uh, friend told me to meet him at the football practice field but he never really explained where that was.”

“Oooh, are tryouts already? Are you with the yearbook to take pictures?” Ok, _rude_ , Armin thought. He took it back immediately, because who was he kidding? Why would anyone assume he was going to a field for an actual sport. The girl pouted and added, “No one was sent to _our_ tryouts today. Figures. Who cares about girl's field hockey!”

“Whoa, hey. I'm not with the yearbook. I'm just looking for the field to meet a friend. And I'm running late. Sorry. I'm sure you'll make the yearbook?” What was he even talking about?

“Sorry! Ok, shoot. Directions! Follow the path all along the back of the building, the field is in the back grass lot by the neighborhood. You'll see the goal posts. Oh, and I'm Christa, by the way!”

“Thanks. I'm Armin."

“Well, good luck finding the field. I've got tryouts.” She skipped away, calling behind as she left, “Put in a good word for us at the yearbook, Armin!”

“I don't work at the yearbook...” he mumbled and took off at a power walk, following the directions the peppy girl gave him. People at Trost were really, really strange.

He spotted the faded yellow goal posts at the top of the hill and picked up his pace, out of breath by the time he reached the top. Jean was standing by the benches, pacing and fiddling with his phone.

“Hey, jackass! Thought you bailed on me. Harsh.”

“Sorry, I got a little lost.”

“Kidding, man. I only just got here anyway.” He tossed the jacket he always wore onto the bench and headed onto the field. Even if the brief summer heat that reached their part of the region had passed swiftly into fall, it was still unnecessary to wear that heavy letterman at all times. And yet, Armin had not yet seen Jean without it.

Armin placed his bag next to Jean's on the bench and followed the other boy onto the worn out grass. Heavily faded chalk lines ran the width of the area. Both boys took in the sights around them, though for different reasons. Jean stretched his arms out and smiled, back on the field he'd spent so much time on over the first half of his high school career, practicing and honing his game. Armin simply wondered why he agreed to be here.

“God, I can't wait to get back out here, start the new season. I can feel this season's gonna be a great one.”

“Is the team here good? I'm pretty sure Shinganshina's sucked.”

“You fucking know it! I'm junior captain and I damn well earned it. Had some legendary plays in the championship game last year. Didn't win but we made it there anyway.”

“Impressive.” Armin was sure Jean was incredibly full of himself, but he let the boy brag. Maybe he wasn't exaggerating. He really had difficulty deciphering that persistently cocky smile. “So, what position do you play?” Armin hoped that was a decent question.

“Wide Receiver. Best one on the squad. Occasional linemen if the defense calls for it.” Armin nodded as if any of that made sense to him. He'd heard some of the terms before but they were gibberish at this point. He pretty much knew jack shit about football.

“Gonna be honest, I don't know a thing about football.” Armin grinned sheepishly while Jean looked as if a personal slight had been committed against him. In his eyes, that's exactly what had happened when Armin admitted that. How dare he.

“Are you shitting me, man?”

“No, I am not  _shitting you, man_.” Jean chuckled at Armin's weak imitation of him.

“That'll get fixed in no time.”

With that, Jean set up the ball and kicking tee he'd been holding under his arm while the two boys talked. It was time for a lesson. He grinned at Armin as he explained the general outline of a football kicker's job and what it all entailed.

“So, that's it.” Armin was being purposefully obtuse as he stared down and pointed at the football. It sat there on its little stand, mocking him somehow. Stupid ball. “Intimidating.”

“Yes, Armin. That is the football,” Jean retaliated with appropriately matched snark. “Waiting to soar through the air at any moment.”

“How do you plan on making that happen?” Dripping, absolutely dripping with sarcasm. Stalling was more accurate of a term.

Jean let out a loud yelp of a laugh and moved behind Armin, physically guiding him into a kicker's position in line with the ball.

“This is your job. I really, really want to see you kick it. See the goal down the field?” Armin nodded, somewhat distracted by the strong hands grasping his shoulders. He felt an awful, telling shudder run through him as Jean's hands gently slipped away. “Kick it as close as possible. No pressure.”

“No pressure. Sure.”

“I mean it. Shut that brain of yours off for a sec, eh? The lines on the field are faded but if you look closely you can tell that we're about thirty or forty yards back. Don't focus too much on kicking it straight or even through the uprights. Go for power and distance. If you can.”

“I don't think these are the right kind of shoes for this.”

Jean groaned and called back as he walked partway down the field for a better view. “Excuses will get you nowhere in life!”

Deep breath. Eyes were on him. God, he was going to look like a fool when he kicked the thing. He imagined it would bounce a few feet and that pathetic display would leave Jean transfixed in disbelief at his incompetence long enough that Armin could make a run for his bag and flee. Release breath. Go.

He rushed the few steps forward and made contact with the ball, throwing both his weight and what little theory he could come up with on the fly into the kick. He remembered something Coach Shadis had mentioned at the beginning of class about kicking slightly with the side of the foot rather than directly jabbing with your toes. The ball sailed above both boys and actually landed fairly close to the goal posts for someone who had absolutely negative faith in themselves. It as rather off center, veering to the left, but there was potential, and Jean's toothy grin made another appearance.

“Pretty sick, man!”

“Good sick or bad sick?”

“Excellent sick!” He ran after the ball, yelling from down field. “Not perfect of course, but there's potential here for sure! Really great start.”

Armin felt like he should follow so he trotted over to Jean and the ball, grabbing the tee as an after thought. He was winded by the time he reached Jean, slightly embarrassed that only thirty yards reduced him to shortened breath. Jean stood there unfazed but beaming.

“I knew you'd be decent.”

“Fine, fine. You told me so. Gonna be a jerk about it?”

“Of course. Try again though?”

Armin set down the tee and gestured for Jean to reset the ball. He wanted to do even better this time. There was a nagging need in his mind to impress Jean. He dragged him out here-better make it worth both their time. With another determined kick, the ball soared through the air once more, this time with an even better arc and slightly more control. Armin was rewarded with a long whistle and a hard clap on the back.

“This is the start of something great. I really think so.”

“What do you mean by that?” Again, with the hair ruffling. Jean took off running instead of answering. He was like an overly energetic retriever chasing after a ball.

Their game of kicking and gathering continued for a little while longer. They tried out a few dropped punt attempts as well, not as nice looking as the tee kicks but Jean claimed they were acceptable for a first timer. Eventually Armin's exhaustion couldn't be hidden and they stopped their running all over the field. The two boys ended up standing in the middle of the worn down grass and tossed the ball to one another. Armin kept dropping the ball, not getting the gripping mechanics correct but Jean only laughed the first few times he'd pouted about it. The breeze and never ending ramble from Jean was enjoyable, even if it was full of surely exaggerated tales of amazing game plays over the years.

Their moment of catch and bragging was cut short by the buzzing of Jean's phone.

“Hate to cut this session off, but I got a text from Marco. His club meeting is out and I'm his way home. Still need that ride?”

Armin told him that was still the case and they went to gather their bags and meet Marco out in the parking lot.

“Let me see your phone real quick?” Armin handed it over and watched Jean fiddle around with it as they walked. Jean suddenly stopped, snapped a selfie with of an obnoxious face he made, and then handed the phone back.

Armin grabbed it away and scrolled though his messages. “What did you do? I hope you weren't messing with Eren.”

“Eren? Thought didn't even cross my mind but shit, what a wasted opportunity. Nah, I texted myself and then added my info so we have each other's numbers.”

The action struck Armin with yet another wave of some threat he really did not want to give name to. It felt too easy, this camaraderie that was developing between them. He didn't want to spoil it by over-thinking it, or over-analyzing the feelings he in no way at all was forming. None at all, nope.

“This is quite possible the worst contact photo I've ever seen.” The picture was mildly disturbing to say the least.

“You know it!”

The ride home was mostly silent on his part, mainly him relaying directions while Jean slung one complaint or inside reference after another to Marco. Armin found Marco to be incredibly proficient in laughing at any little thing Jean said, actual humor involved or not. He stared out the window in the backseat, shaking off the tiny flare of envy that was fighting its way up. Marco seemed like a nice guy. There was no need to scoff at his good natured affection. He and Jean were obviously very close friends. Maybe even more? Armin didn't want to admit how much that thought killed him, but it wasn't his business. None of it was any of his business at all.

The car sped off after dropping Armin at his house. Armin hoped it wasn't entirely too far out of Jean's way, but the guy insisted that it wasn't a problem at all. He highly doubted they lived in the same area, but playing on Jean's friendliness had really only been a positive so far.

After a long day like the one he just dealt with, the comfort of his bedroom was beckoning Armin like a gift from above. He collapsed onto his bed and resisted falling asleep immediately. It wasn't even five yet, how wasteful would that be? His legs were killing him, he hated to admit.

His now severely scuffed shoes from kicking the ball all afternoon were toed off, and the stereo was turned on. Time to lay there and stare at the ceiling for a moment before diving into the various honors textbooks scattered after falling out of his bag. Later. It was still early.

His phone buzzed.

It was Jean. More shockingly, it was a picture file from Jean. Armin ignored the awful fluttering, not-quite-sick feeling he felt at the sight of the name lighting up his phone. He quickly opened up the message to find a, somehow, even more moronic picture from Jean with the message:

**changed my mind thiiiis is the one for my contact**

Armin replied, _That's even more awful than the first one._

**true beauty nd youd better have changed it. im def checking tmrrw ;P**

Why did a stupid semi-colon and capital letter make something imaginary flip inside of him? Armin rolled over and screamed into his pillow. He was doomed. Completely and utterly _fucked_.


	3. cool kids never have the time

“Armin. Hey, _Armin._ That's your name, right? Hey. Turn around.”

This and various other attempts at getting his attention had been made for a few minutes before the boy being subtly called finally snapped and acknowledged the annoying pestering.

“ _What_?” Armin bit back in an attempt at a stage whisper form of yelling, hoping his aggravation came across despite the hushed tone.

He was really getting sick of all the distractions during class and the threat of scolding from teachers, especially during the first weeks when impressions were key. Mainly, he was taken aback at being addressed by his massive classmate named Reiner, who Armin knew to be quite popular. Armin only wanted to take his notes in peace, was that really so much for a guy to wish for?

“I want to talk to you.”

“It's the middle of class?” Armin glanced around nervously. The teacher hadn't noticed their talking yet, thankfully.

“So?”

“So, eventually the teacher's gonna catch us?”

“Lame,” Reiner sighed, not bothering to whisper this time. He had the nerve to cross his arms and pout.

Well, he wasn't wrong. Armin felt pretty lame. He watched Miss Ral scan the room and give him a look, feeling very guilty as he slid down slightly in his chair out of the embarrassment of getting caught. He'd prefer the monicker of 'lame' if it stopped him from getting called out during class by a teacher.

Salvation arrived shortly. Sort of.

“Ok, class, we're splitting up into groups for the rest of the period. Discuss the chapter, stay on track, and keep your voices down. I'll be around to check on your chosen essay topics.”

The second Miss Ral stopped talking, Reiner slid his desk right up against Armin's, making a horrid loud scraping noise as he crashed over. Jean spun around in his seat as well, elbows bracketing the desk to prop his smug, smirking head up. Marco won the award for calmest arrival, yet a matching smug expression ruined the entire image.

“Um. Hey?” Armin stupidly said after finding himself drowning in a sudden sea of lettermans.

“Armin, right?” Marco asked and Armin nodded. “So you're the boy Jean's told me so much about. Interesting.”

With that simple statement, Armin felt a weird flipping sensation in his stomach, like when a car drives too quickly down a hill, or catching yourself right before falling. He knew it didn't mean what he wanted it to mean and tried to remain unaffected, but all his life had suffered from an affliction of near instantaneous blushing at the mere mention of anything embarrassing...or whatever he wanted to label this new dilemma.

“Dude, could you have worded that any creepier? Come on!” Jean groaned and lightly punched Marco in the arm. He did that often to people, it seemed. Marco grinned at his friend with a knowing look.

“Anyway, while you two morons flirt,” Oh there was a different, less pleasant internal feeling, “I'm going to get down to business. Armin. Seriously. So, the squad this year needs a new kicker. Marlo-”

“That complete fucking asshole!” Jean interjected.

“-defected back to the soccer team, full time and permanently. We're a little low on bodies and tryouts are on Friday.”

“You all really want me to tryout for the _football team_?” Armin laughed. The three football players stared intently at him. Reiner looked completely serious. “Well. I can't lie. If this is some intricate practical joke you all are in on, I'll give you the out right here. Save me the trouble and throw me in the dumpster after class to get it over with, yeah?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Reiner flatly asked.

“Armin thinks we're making fun of him. Don't you?” By the expression on Jean's face, Armin could tell he was hurt by the accusation. He was still wary, but now felt very small as well.

“Well... I mean. Look at me. Really, look at me! Look at _you guys_! The football team?”

Reiner let out a humored sigh. “I don't expect you to block for us on the defensive line, we're talking about _kicker_. Have you even watched a game before?”

“I understand the basic dynamics. Kicker or not, I'll be flattened.”

“That won't happen! And no one's throwing you in the dumpster or whatever misguided bullying fantasy you're imagining. My man Jean told me you were pretty good and I'll take that at this point. Yes, you're a small guy. But that could be useful. And I trust Jean's judgment. I'm serious and,” He punctuated his next statement with a jab to Armin's chest during each word, “I. Want. To. See. You. There. Friday."

Miss Ral appeared and they each bluffed their way through essay topic ideas as she grilled them. Armin mentally weighed the pros and cons of actually going through with making an appearance at the tryout session. He really, really didn't want to get tackled or break something or die. Or look like a complete moron in front of the school's top athletes. Or, if by some absolutely unlikely miracle he made the team, fall behind in his studies. Make the team, ha! Hilarious. The three players surrounding him as he sat intently thinking didn't appear to have cruel intentions with their insistence on his trying out. They were opening the doors to a world Armin never would have imagined he could be a part of, never something he ever considered was something he wanted.

He wanted it now. His brief idea of performing badly on purpose and dealing with the embarrassment, just to get everyone off his case, was slashed. That wasn't a possibility now. Jean caught his eye and mouthed _please come on Friday_ and Armin caved. Junior year started off new and scary and full of possibility. _Take some risks, kid. Put yourself out there and do something significant._ The little pressuring voice in the back of his head sounded suspiciously like his grandfather.

The decision was made.

“Hey guys,” three heads rose from pretending to jot out essay ideas in their notebooks. “I'm going to tryouts on Friday.”

The bell rang as they each celebrated their successful mission. Someone ruffled Armin's hair in the commotion and he had a strong hunch who that was. A hope, at least. He could finally admit that to himself, however unattainable.

\- - - - - - -

“What the fuck? No you're not.”

“I am though.”

Eren hadn't taken the news as well as Armin had hoped, far from the jubilation from the jocks during history. The fist bumps and _see I knew it_ statements were replaced with a fist slammed into the table. Plastic utensils were flung to the floor in the rage.

“Why are you so upset?” Mikasa asked “I'm joining track.”

“Not the point! Actually, no, that is also kind of the point. I'm trying to survive here and now both of you are abandoning me!”

“You always abandon us.”

Eren frowned. “That's not true.”

“She's right. I hate to say it, but you do tend to do that, Eren.”

“Fucking how?”

“It's great for a while but then you start getting detention every other day, or find some job...”

“And then get fired,” Mikasa added.

“-and get fired, yeah. Then you sulk alone and shut us out!” Armin pleaded, to which Eren only sadly glared back, jaw clenched, surely fighting back a snide retort.

“I want to be there for you, and we are, we both are, but you need to branch out. Armin and I will always be around. But I've done nothing the last two years. High school is halfway over.”

“I doubt we'll all go to the same college,” Armin admitted, something he only actually admitted to himself in that very moment. It needed to be said. It was the truth.“We need to try stuff. So I'm going to tryouts. Probably won't make it. But at least I _tried_. Hence the name.”

Eren sighed dramatically. “Looks like I'm going to tryouts too tomorrow.”

“You're doing what?” Armin knew full well what.

“Football tryouts. Can't hurt to _try,_ huh?”

Mikasa let her head rest on the greasy cafeteria table, silently giving up.

“Are you serious?” Armin said, exasperated and not really asking Eren. More like asking the fates a collective and desperate _why are you allowing this_? Best friend or not, Armin didn't need the additional stress or attention his hot-tempered friend would inadvertently draw. That tiny portion of his mind that had started to concede to his budding crush deflated a bit at Eren's declaration. Jean would be far from thrilled to see Eren at tryouts standing with Armin.

“I'm deadly serious.”

“When have you ever had an interest in football?”

“When have you?” Eren countered.

“...Recently.” He still kept the information about the kicker test with Jean to himself, a private memory he didn't want to taint.

“Your random decision doesn't count.”

“You don't count.” Smart retort, Armin.

“That made zero sense, genius.”

“Well at least I'm a genius! If that's your only comeback, I'll accept.”

Mikasa listened to the rapidly degrading conversation like one would watch a tennis match. The back and forth was giving her a headache and neither side of the net was at all close to winning.

\- - - - - - -

Game. Set. Match.

At precisely three o'clock Friday, Eren and Armin stood both ill-prepared and over-prepared among the crowd gathered at the football practice field. Armin felt like a moron with his baggy gym shorts and blinding white sweatband around his head. He had no idea what to wear or bring and Yahoo Answers answered very few of his questions during his frantic desperation the night before. A google search of “how to play football” proved too daunting as well. He felt like such a sham standing on the field.

Meanwhile, Eren stood there in full equipment, padded pants and shoulder pads underneath an oversized jersey. Armin had no idea where he procured all the stuff. He was even wearing a helmet. Armin tried to slowly inch away from him after noticing the stares pointed in their direction.

Jean spotted Armin in the group of new hopefuls and jogged over to say hello, immediately falling to the ground in hysterics after catching a glimpse that it was Eren in the ridiculous ensemble.

“What the fuck is so funny?” Eren spat out. Jean clutched at his chest and tried to compose himself. Armin offered a hand to help him from the ground.

“You're a goddamn idiot. Armin, thanks for bringing the entertainment.” Eren let out a yell and attempted to charge at Jean, who simply shoved a hand out against the other boy's helmet. Eren pathetically flailed his arms until Armin pulled him back and apologized for the display. “Anyway, tell the little monster to take all that shit off, we're starting with laps. Unless he wants to kill himself in the first ten minutes, be my guest. By all means.”

“Laps?” Armin whispered, horrified.

Jean winced. “Sorry, Armin. Don't worry too much. Holds no standing in what _you_ specifically are here for. We all gotta warm up, though. See ya.”

He knocked a fist into Eren's helmet and jogged away. Eren reluctantly took the advice and removed the heavy gear. The new recruits grouped together and were welcomed and instructed to join the returning players in running a few laps around the perimeter of the field.

By lap three, Armin wanted to collapse and lay there defeated. He pushed through, not wanting to be a quitter so soon. That would be devastating. It felt as if his lungs were shriveling up the longer he ran. Eren was desperately exerting himself to keep up with the returning players and the others who had been attending offered training sessions all summer. Because of this, Armin didn't even have his best friend running beside him in support.

Despite having no real motivation to be there, unlike Armin, Eren was set on being the best out on the field anyway. He had a brief stint on the soccer team in middle school, but had been kicked off for continuous fighting. There was an infamous incident oft retold in Shinganshina days of the game where Eren had gotten so pissed over a ref call that he'd chucked the soccer ball onto the school roof and then ran all the way home in an angry rage. Armin worried about what that destructive force of nature was capable of in an actual contact sport. He made a personal bet that his friend wouldn't make it past the first game before being benched. If he even made the team and if he even saw game play. There were so many variables working against him.

Nearing the end of the run, Armin noticed that he was in last place for the entire group. Oh, no. There was no way he was going to look like the weakest one there. His appearance already suggested it. He fought through and found a second wind, pushing forward past the brink of pain and lack of breath, managing to make it to the middle of the mass of runners when they all finished the warmup run.

The pain and wind stung tears in his eyes were worth the encompassing feeling of exhaustion when he watched Reiner give him an impressed once over. He finally collapsed to the ground despite knowing that was one of the worst things to do after a strenuous work out, but he couldn't help it. His legs were jello. Like a fish on a dock, he struggled to catch his breath as Eren poured a lukewarm bottle of water over his head in hopes of helping. It didn't really do anything for him other than cause uncomfortable wetness down his shirt but Armin appreciated the thought.

He stretched out in his spot on the ground, wiping water from his face and still too busy regaining use of his lungs to notice Jean staring at him nearby with a strange look.

Different groups of people were split up and a few basic plays were ran through with the appropriate recruits and returning players branching off. After regaining use of his legs and some more stretching, Armin practiced some kicks into a net off on the sidelines, alone, before the coaches decided to bring him out onto the field for actual application of whatever skills he apparently had to show off.

The time came and attention was on him. Breathe. It was the same as when he was there with Jean the other day. No need to be nervous. He glanced over to the portion of the field where defensive plays were being practiced, noticing the pause in the group's drill. He was sure that most people present were curious as to why a guy like him was even at these tryouts. This was his chance.

Jean took his helmet off and discreetly flashed a thumbs up, enough to snap Armin's attention confidentially to the task at hand. Armin went through the moves in his head quickly, took a few steps back, ran those same paces forward, and made contact with the ball.

It actually managed to soar through the goal posts on this attempt. A near perfect kick.

He beamed in pride, laughing at his sheer luck. The players who had been watching cheered for him in praise. Eren was stunned. Armin had never felt this sort of pride before, not even when he'd scored a ridiculous 109% on an algebra test in ninth grade. He felt sort of silly. The coaches chatted among themselves as Armin lined up two more balls that were waiting nearby, kicking one wildly and another very close to how he'd done the first time. Huh. He could get the hang of this. With practice. He'd given himself a chance and did fine, maybe it was time to let others be the judge, far away from his own self-depreciation.

 _Maybe I need to stop doubting myself so much,_ Armin thought.

\- - - - - - -

Two hours later, the boys were herded over to the actual stadium to wait out the team list announcements. The stadium was more atmospheric for the melodramatic delivery of the team roster. Soon enough they would find out who made either JV or varsity, or if some were even on the team at all.

Eren extensively went over how his tryout had gone with Armin,who was sitting there in a complete daze. He felt that he'd actually done rather well, possibly well enough to make the team. None of the other boys who tried out managed to kick quite with the precision he had. He figured there would at least be a place for him on JV, but neither Reiner nor Jean were on that team. They were the ones who strongly pushed for him to be there at all.

Those two were currently in a huddle with Head Coach Hannes and the JV coaches, writing frantically on a clipboard and giving a final review of everyone's performance.

“I better make the team or-”

“Or what?” Armin laughed at his friend's intensity. “You didn't even want to do this until yesterday.”

“Well I'm here now. Just saying...”

The coaches and captains finally reached their decision and approached the bleachers with the results. Names were called and designated to either JV or varsity. Oh, the anticipation.

“Eren Jaeger, varsity. Offensive lineman.”

Eren shot out of his seat in excitement, yelling self-congratulatory ' _fuck yeahs_ ' and basically making a fool of himself. Reiner yelled at him to sit his ass down before he regretted the decision.

“Armin Arlert...” of course it would be Jean's voice delivering the news. The two met eyes before Jean broke out into a smile and delivered the verdict of, “...varsity. Kicker.”

Armin released the breath he'd been holding and silently celebrated. Eren vocally voiced his delight and tackled Armin in the stands, earning another scolding from Reiner. The smile on Armin's face was starting to hurt. He was a varsity football player. Wow. He was a varsity football player? How had he managed this one? He couldn't wait to tell his Grandfather when he got home that night. That man would never believe his nerdy little chess-playing, honor roll, scrawny as hell grandson was on the football team.

The new team members were dismissed from tryouts after receiving their uniforms and actual equipment, as well as a complete schedule for the season. There were three weeks before the first game.

And so ended the longest two weeks of Armin's high school life. Eren's junky old car was loaded with football equipment as the two boys drove to Eren's house for a much needed hang out.

\- - - - - - - - 

Armin and Eren were well into a marathon of awful action movies and their third bowl of popcorn when Mikasa arrived at the Jaeger residence. She sat down unannounced in between the two and pointedly ignored their stares. The blue and white pom-poms she'd been holding were tossed onto the floor.

“What?” she asked, addressing their gaping expressions.

“Mikasa, what the actual fuck are you wearing?” Eren stuttered out. Armin's eyes were drawn to her long exposed legs and cropped tank, not a look the girl usually portrayed. He didn't generally take an interest in that sort of thing (girls), but he couldn't help but linger. Where had she been hiding?

“This? This is just my cheer leading uniform.”

“What do you mean, that's your _cheer leading uniform_?” Eren said through clenched teeth.

Armin snapped out of his creepy ogling of his friend's legs and muttered, “I think you know the answer, Eren.”

“Are you- _are you on the fucking cheer leading team_?” He gritted out in an unnervingly shrill falsetto.

“Bingo.” She stole a popcorn bowl and went to town, unfazed. Or, more likely, unwilling to explain.

“Since when?”

“Since I joined this afternoon.”

“And they let you on? Just like that?”

“Why are you so concerned? Enough questions.”

“I can't believe this,” he scoffed. “It's so unlike you.”

“Why? Am I not good looking enough to be a cheerleader?” She asked through a mouthful of popcorn.

“That's not what I meant.”

“Well I am one now, so. Whatever. It's not a big deal.”

Eren simply started laughing, making Mikasa's scowl deepen.

“Please stop laughing at her,” Armin begged.

“Come on, can you honestly see Mikasa all peppy? Waving pom-poms in people's faces! What is happening to us? Fucking bizarre turn, this week.” His tone turned serious. “Besides. She'll be cheering at our games now. Apart from the two of us, you know the type of guys on the team. I don't want those jerks harassing my sister all the time.”

“I think she can handle herself.” Eren was forgetting that their best friend earned her black belt the year before. Add that to her generally stoic and serious disposition. The girl was tough.

“Whatever, it's still a bad idea. This can't be happening! God, I can't believe this shit.”

“Shut up!” Mikasa yelled, throwing the now empty bowl at Eren. She added in a quiet voice, “I joined the cheer squad for you. For you both.”

The two boys said nothing for a moment, leaving the background noise of the movie to fill the tense room. It wasn't often that she raised her voice. She was the stable one of the trio, always calming either a fit of rage or a burst of frantic anxiety. Who could blame a girl for lashing out at a needling like that?

Mikasa pulled at her skirt and sighed, slightly embarrassed now over her red face and watery eyes.

“I have absolutely no classes with either of you this year. How unfair is that? Now you two will have football all the time.”

“The cheerleaders go to all the games. Travel together with the team...” Armin added once he came to the realization of her decision.

“Track's not until the spring. I went to cheer tryouts today when you were at yours. I would have quit if either of you didn't make it. But you _both_ did. What was I supposed to do? I go where you go. That was our deal growing up. I talked a lot of shit at lunch yesterday but I got scared. We do need to try new things, but I got scared, alright?”

Eren threw an arm around her. “Never separate, no matter what. I know.”

Armin crowded her in as well, clinging to her side and nuzzling his head against her shoulder until she pulled him into their pile in the middle of the couch. They slowly broke into laughter at their absurdity and needless arguing. It wasn't going to be the junior year they'd planned on, but it was sure as hell going to be interesting.

“So I guess this group is now made up of two football players and a cheerleader. Coolest clique ever?”

Armin giggled from under Mikasa's arm. “I wouldn't exactly call our trio of misfits a clique.”

“This is going to be a really weird year,” Eren mused. “Really fucking weird.”

“Got that right, bro.”

“ _Bro_?” Mikasa and Eren repeated at the same time.

“Testing the waters. We're jocks now. I guess?”

They burst into laughter again, free and happy and all together. They stayed tangled together as an impromptu pile of emotional teenagers for the remainder of the movie and only parted when Armin and Mikasa eventually had to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) i never know how much profanity is too much? or too little? these are high school kids and when i was a high school kid i cursed a fuckton, in any situation possible. i was also an unapologetic jock so there's that. i remember running to catch the middle of a lap session during tryout week but unlike armin, i actually passed out. YIKES still made the team though eyyyy  
> 2) eren and mikasa are not siblings (adoptive or otherwise) in this because in suburban NE america where this takes place, kid's parents don't often get murdered at like age 8 so Mikasa's parents are alive and kicking. and yet, i'm writing armin as living with only his grandfather soooooo hmm. what can you do.  
> 3) also the setting is an unspecified place in new england. passionate HS football is so stereotypical southern and i wanted to place this elsewhere and also somewhere closer to canada because Jean is french canadian in this btw and it makes more sense for that in NE so ok this author's note is rather lengthy and i'd better ssssshhhhh


	4. c'est l'homme idèal charme au masculin

Team practices were held every day after school, usually running between two and three hours long depending on how well everything went. New recruits needed to do a lot of conditioning since most players had been keeping up with the workout regiments throughout the summer break. At least the summer heat was fading away as August slowly inched closer to September. Late season heat waves rarely reached this far north anyway.

While he possessed the physical skill for the game, Eren was slow to understand all the different plays the team ran. There was more memorization and strategy to football than he would have anticipated. He was fast enough on the field, sure, but others were faster overall and had been playing longer. The tryout results had designated him to defensive roles, where he far excelled on the field, having a passion for never giving up when pursuing someone on a run for the end zone.

On the flip side, Armin was superb at strategy. Much to his surprise, he had become slightly buddy-buddy with the coaches, chatting with them about different play ideas he thought up. Reiner was eager to try his ideas out during practice, making Armin actually feel useful to the team. His kicking and punting skills were good, but when those situations weren't relevant he was stuck on the sidelines. It was generally accepted that kickers would sit out often and be allowed to leave practice early, but Armin refused to get special treatment.

He stuck around helping out even when practices dragged on and on. He didn't want to be labeled a slacker or anything like that, so he decided to work on conditioning or to simply throw a ball with others having a break on the sidelines until they were called back to the field. After some weeks passed, he felt a sense of giddiness while standing in his mirror at night, proud of the small amount of muscle he was gaining. At least it was something!

A few times a week Armin and Eren actually got together with other players, usually Marco and Jean and whoever else wanted to tag along, to watch old game tapes and highlight reels of past seasons. Everyone made lighthearted fun of Armin's extensive note-taking during these sessions, but when he got interested in something he threw his full devotion into the subject. Even if this subject was football. Jean and Eren's constant bickering hadn't ceased, however, but the malicious edge was waning. Didn't mean that Armin or Marco never had to step in to stop a punch being thrown here or there, because they sure as hell did need to occasionally.

He would never admit it to anyone but the privacy of his mind, but Armin's favorite part of the whirlwind so far were the workout sessions. Sure, as a student athlete he was able to skip out on structured gym classes under the batshit watch of Shadis, but that wasn't the main reason for his excitement. Eren enjoyed running around the gym playing soccer or basketball with everyone but Armin and Jean preferred retreating to the weight room. Armin grew gradually stronger and fell rapidly further into his unfortunate crush. He couldn't help it. He was a lovestruck teenage boy and the world handed him ample and semi-appropriate excuses to stare at a rather good looking guy work out right next to him. That was something Armin was more than happy to accept as a peace offering from the world and all the shit he'd been put through so far in his schooling career.

His pulse would race as he watched Jean bench press across the weight room while he ran on the elliptical. It was a sight, alright? Armin felt absolutely shameless, but he took what he could. One time Jean asked Armin to spot him when the guy who usually did that was absent from class. Armin nearly passed out from the proximity, willing himself to chill at listening to the strained sounds Jean was making while lifting. These were the things that kept the poor boy awake at night, too distracted to get a good night's sleep.

\- - - - - - - -

“Eren, what's going on in your English class?” Eren froze as Coach Hannes approached him at the end of practice one day.

“Um, I'm not sure what you're talking about?”

“Boy, don't you play dumb. The coaches get records of everyone's grades each week. Failed two tests, eh? What's going on?”

Eren often panicked under scrutiny, unlike Armin who was devilishly good with lies when he needed to get out of a jam. “I don't have enough time to study!”

“Bullshit, everyone else is managing, despite a few exceptions- you being one of them!” Eren's face flushed slightly, embarrassed at the coach's reprimands.

Hannes and he had a slight history from when Eren was a little kid. He and his troop of wily, rambunctious youths would often get scolded for trampling around the man's yard and generally being nuisances. It was still so weird to have his neighbor coach him. He seemed to pick on Eren more than others for this reason. The man had simply wanted to look out for the boy, knowing how rough he'd had it as a kid. He needed structure.

After much arguing and reluctance, Eren ended up having to go to tutoring before classes some days, at least until his grades were brought up. He was vocally resistant and generally upset about it, wishing that Armin could just help him out instead of having to spend more time with a teacher who seemed to despise him. Armin gave it right back to him whenever he started complaining.

“You don't hear me whining about studying. I've gone to the same practices as you and I've been doing fine.” Armin lectured while sitting at lunch one day.

“But you're Armin! You study for fun.”

“And you're not _actually_ an idiot! Despite what people may tell you. I know you're capable of managing this.” Eren childishly stuck his tongue out at that comment. “No excuses.”

“Ugh, can't  _you_ just tutor me though?”

“I've told you, I don't have that class and you should be glad that Mr. Ackerman agreed to spend all this extra time with you to help. He really knows what he's teaching.”

“I  _knooooow_ , that's why it sucks! He's great and all, but he's not gonna give me a break. He already didn't on his tests! That's why I’m fucking stuck in this situation.”

“Do you really think I'd make it any easier? You'd never learn if I let you off easy. You couldn't handle my tutoring prowess!” Armin joked with a wink. “Consider yourself lucky.”

“You know, you really creep me out sometimes.”

\- - - - - - - -

In the vein of academics, Armin and Jean managed to follow through with their small talk from the first day of school and teamed up as study partners (much to the internal delight of Armin). Jean would give Armin pointers on French and on the flip side- chemistry tutoring. Which was especially needed after the disastrous first official day in the lab.

“Remember, we have to add the hydrogen mixture in a few minutes after beaker one is done cooling. No sooner! Make sure the timer is on. Let me know when it's time.”

“Got it.” Jean stood there dutifully while Armin continued to list off instructions and make tiny adjustments to the heat settings. He fiddled with a vial as Armin grew more and more bossy, not knowing how to react to this new side of the kid. “Can I at least pour something?”

Armin gave him a long suffering look. “Maybe.”

He knew he was pretty much dominating the lad assignment, but there was little room for error and Jean had admitted early in the lesson that he had zero clue about what was doing. Warily, Armin handed over one of the beakers when Jean's pouting refused to cease. He punched the air in victory and awaited the next instruction, glad that he'd actually get to do something, hoping at least that it would be something cool.

The back of the classroom was stifling at the lab stations, heat of burners and boiling chemicals adding to increasing temperature in the air. Armin had been brushing his hair back for most of the lab period and it was rather annoying after a point. He tied the rapidly frizzing mess up, away from getting in his face. It was not a look he donned often.

“I just wanted to say, you pull off the goggle look _soooo_ much better than I do,” Jean said with a smirk.

Armin rolled his eyes, barely seen through his fogged up goggles. He reached over and pushed Jean's pair down over his eyed. He was being stubborn and kept propping them up uselessly on his forehead.

“Keep them on! It's not worth losing an eye because you don't want to look silly,” Armin scolded, not missing a beat at the returning pout. His already thin sense of humor was nonexistent whenever he went into scientist mode. Or study mode. Strategy mode now, too. If asked, his friend surely would agree that the boy needed to _chill_. Armin was incredibly focused at the task at hand and Jean was incredibly, desperately, fucking bored.

“Armin, there are dangerous chemicals around and I am bored! What the fuck, man?”

“Ssshhh,” he narrowed his eyes and got eye level with a test tube to read the exact volume level the mixture had boiled down to so far.

“When can I add this beaker? This one pathetic beaker I'm responsible for?”

“SSSSHHH.”

Jean groaned and glanced across the shared lab station. “Hey Connie, doesn't Armin look nice with his hair pulled back?”

“W-what?” Connie sputtered.

“He does. Tell Armin he looks nice with his hair pulled back, I don't think he'll listen to me.” Armin shot them both a glare and continued measuring.

“I don't really think he cares at all, but whatever. Work it, man!”

Jean laughed at the comment. Armin sighed in frustration as his lab partner and Connie began flicking water at one another. Connie's partner didn't seem to care, also appearing to be doing most of their pair's work. The timer went off, unnoticed by the boy so desperate to have something to do in the lab assignment.

“Jean! Are you going to add the base?”

“Shit! Sorry, man. I am on this!”

He grabbed a random beaker and poured it into the container currently situated over the fire. As soon as the two liquids met, the glass shattered and a small fireball rose above their lab station. Armin yelped and jumped back, fury and tension boring into Jean with a much more terrifying sort of fire.

Dr. Zoe was on the scene immediately, yelling and bouncing around in excitement. Any other teacher would reprimand her irresponsible students but she was more concerned with finding out what happened and if it could be replicated. Her apparent disregard for a ruined project calmed Armin's spent nerves slightly, now that he knew he wasn't going to be reamed out in front of the class and given a failing mark. Unorthodox, but he was thankful their teacher was a complete nut. What a world. Still, Jean was going to have to work extra hard before he earned his pouring privileges back or even touched another beaker.

Everything was cleaned up and the shock of the incident dulled, but Armin shot out of the classroom exactly at the sound of the bell, not waiting for Jean like he usually did. Jean rushed after him.

“Armin, wait up! Wait. Are you... actually mad at me?” He asked once he caught up with Armin.

Armin hesitated, face scrunched up in conflict. “It's fine. It's over. Maybe a little? I'd be really mad if we didn't get any credit for the assignment but Dr. Zoe told me not to worry about the outcome. But we got lucky. You need to take this class seriously, alright?”

“I”m sorry,” Jean frowned, leaning against the wall where they'd stopped and tried his best to look apologetic. He genuinely was, but after his lab period full of constant goofing off, it was hard to appear in legitimate sincerity.

“Cool. It's not a joke to me. We just need to work on our coordination. I should probably loosen the reins a bit, too.”

“And I'll tone down the asshole level.”

“You can do that? I look forward to witnessing a miracle.”

“Armin! I am offended at the accusation!” Jean threw an arm around him and led them towards the next class they shared together. Armin could feel the heat rising on his face and was thankful that when walking side by side, the cause of his incriminating blush couldn't see it.

“Ey, guys! Get a room!” Connie yelled behind the duo. Jean removed his arm and lunged for the cackling little idiot, attempting to deck him one in the middle of the hall. Armin sped away, removing himself from the situation entirely.

\- - - - - - - -

It was their first study session taking place outside of school. And they were _just friends_ , a mantra getting Armin through their study hall meetups so far. The house before him, however, looming massive with its pristine landscaping and wrap around driveway, put everything into perspective; it was too close, too real. He was entering uncharted territory. It had been great growing up with two best friends who were closer than siblings to him, but there hadn't been much room for growth beyond their codependent triad. Toss in the beginning stages of an impossible, unrequited crush and the entire situation took a very delicate and intimidating edge.

The garage alone looked like it could fit most of his own modest house and that was the least of his anxiety. The situation was overwhelming, too late to text a hasty cancellation since his grandfather had already dropped him off and drove away.

Armin rang the doorbell and tried to ignore the waves of panic washing over him at the sound of footsteps behind the door. A very pretty lady in an apron answered the door with a hundred watt smile splitting her face, catching him entirely off guard. He could see where Jean got some of his looks.

“Hello. Are you Mrs. Kirschtein?”

“You must be Armin! 'ello dear. Come in.” Armin followed her inside and suppressed the urge to ask her about her interesting accent, knowing that would be sort of rude to ask right off the bat. “Jean's been waiting all day for you to come over. He's finally found some energy, my poor boy. So mopey. I think you will cheer him up. He's down here in the basement.”

Armin thanked her, for what, he didn't really know. It seemed like the polite thing to do. He crept down the stairs quietly, glancing at all the cool movie posters and sports memorabilia lining the walls. The basement was nowhere near as impeccably put together as the small portion of the house he'd seen already. It was much more worn-in and cozy, with soft lighting and an array of old couches and discarded furniture haphazardly situated around the room. There was a large, old TV on a rickety entertainment center and piles of overflowing storage boxes lining the far wall. Overall, it was far less intimidating compared to the magazine ready interior decorating of the upstairs rooms.

An old ping-pong table was leaning against a corner, most likely brought out for beer pong at parties? That's what jock boys did, right? Hang out in basements, chug a few beers, and play that game? Armin's only reference came from sitcoms and movies, having never been to a real party. His imagination was probably getting the best of him, but he hoped that being on the team meant at least one invite to something truly stupid this year. Now that the hurdle of disbelief at making the team had been breached, he was open to any and all new experiences thrown his way.

In the middle of all the mayhem in the basement was a pile of blankets, pillows, and couch cushions. Jean had constructed himself a pillow fort of some kind. Armin snapped a picture of it on his phone, in case he ever needed some blackmail of how much of a dork he was discovering the boy to be. Phone at the ready in case anything else incriminating presented itself, Armin snuck over and peered through the opening in the makeshift tent, finding Jean sprawled on his back in the midst of it all. He suppressed an embarrassing giggle behind his screen and prodded the sleeping boy with his foot.

Anything but a graceful sleeper, Jean groaned and flung an arm out to grab onto Armin's leg, making the most hideous waking faces as he struggled to open his eyes. Armin took another picture or two, zooming in on the drool spot on Jean's shoulder. It was amazing.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Armin joked, lighting tapping at Jean's side again. He was glad that Jean eased gradually into alertness rather than the violent jolts he was used to with Eren. Eren had always been something of a dramatic waker but Armin still had flashbacks to the display in the auditorium on the first day of school.

Jean sleepily stretched his stiff muscles and yawned. The sight did all sorts of awful tingling things to poor, helpless Armin. He was unaffected. He was a rock. He was so fucked as he side-eyed the strip of skin between Jean's waistband and his rucked up shirt.

“Ah shit, when did you get here?”

“Nice to see you, too. Just got here.” He hesitated a moment, and then flopped down on a cushion next to Jean, smiling softly at his continued stretching and pouting at being woken up. It was rather endearing and Armin felt a new tightness in his chest that he was pointedly choosing to ignore. “Your mom let me in. She's pretty nice.”

“Damn, did she say anything... weird?”

“Ha, only that you couldn't wait for me to come over.” Jean stuck his tongue out at that like a child but didn't deny it. “Feeling any better?”

“Today I am. Slept through most of the day. Got bored. Made this magnificent structure while I watched like four fucking hours of stand-up so it was a worthwhile day.”

“You're brain is going to turn to mush.”

“Small sacrifice.”

“Well, the fort is pretty impressive, for what it is.” Armin took his shoes off and slid in further once Jean summoned him in, curling up against a side and getting comfortable. Well, as comfortable as he could in the current situation, what with his persistent racing heart rate and all. He was so fucked.

The two chatted about what had been missed in class and went over notes while Jean recounted his miserable experience the day before. He'd left school abruptly after a mishap with a suspicious school lunch. Both Marco and Armin had warned him about the orange chicken experiment the lunch staff had tried to serve, but he ignored their warning and rumors from the earlier lunch period about how awful the concoction was. Jean felt the need to prove his manliness and stomach of steel.

He was defeated in trig class, rushing to the trashcan midway through the lecture on rational exponents, demonstrating there was nothing rational at all about eating three portions of a meal he was warned to not even attempt in the first place. His fateful punishment was an entire night spent in agony in the bathroom. Despite the ordeal, he was most upset about missing two subsequent football practices.

“Oh wait, you'll never guess what happened at practice today!”

“Oh god, what?”

“Reiner quit to star on the synchro swimming team and Hannes made Eren the new QB.” Armin grinned maniacally and Jean hit him with a pillow.

“Shut the fuck up, Armin. Your jokes suck.”

“Not like you would know if it's true, invalid!” He was the one to stick his tongue out this time. “Really though, it was more of the same, lots of defensive work. Coach did say that you'd be running extra laps when you come back on Wednesay.”

“No he didn't! Did he?”

“The true answer to that question remains as mysterious as that meat you ate.”

Jean hit him in the face again with the pillow.

It was a full out war after that as the boys disregarded any shred of maturity they might have acquired over their sixteen years of life. The battle was short lived, ending in a tangle of limbs and two winded teenagers. Looking at the display as an outsider, no one would guess that they were athletes with how they struggled to catch their breath. The textbook and pile of notes had been kicked somewhere outside of the fort's perimeter.

Armin's laughter trailed off when he rolled to face Jean, weakly hitting him one last time with his fluffy weapon. Jean grabbed the pillow captive, pulling it and it's holder forward. Armin felt that sudden pang deep within, heart threatening to jump through his throat as Jean plucked a stray thread from his hair, flicking him on the cheek while he was close enough. It was fine, it was all fucking fine. Just guys being bros, what was wrong with that? Guys wrestled with one another all the time, Armin saw them goof around constantly after practice or sometimes even during. It was all really, really fine. He fought against leaning into the contact, despite the desperate urge to close his eyes and pretend the gesture meant anything more.

He was in so much fucking trouble. At least the lighting was dim in the basement. He didn't want to think about how prominently his frustrating blush was spreading across his face. He felt almost ill with guilt as Jean wheeled around and searched for the remote, turning the volume on the TV up louder as he started up the pre-season NFL game he'd recorded the night before. They sat apart, leaning against the chairs serving as pillars for the gap in the fort. Armin both cursed and thanked the distance between them. He was already too close to losing his mind.

They analyzed the game, discussed the merits of their region's closest NFL team (Jean hated them, Armin was indifferent but admitted they were pretty overrated), and fought over the remote during the commercials.

“Leave them on! It makes the game more authentic,” Armin explained.

Jean couldn't believe the unreasonable request. “How is this even an argument? That's the entire point of DVR! We have the technology to fast forward!”

“We abuse the technology! Anyway, maybe I _like_ commercials.”

“The hell, bro? Who likes commercials?” Armin shrugged and held the remote out of reach. “You are truly fucked in the head, Arlert.”

Armin would never admit his entire reasoning was so the game lasted longer and he had an excuse to overstay his welcome. He came to deliver notes and fill Jean in on their classes, but the unexpected extension of his visit was more than he could hope for- he'd take what he could get.

They continued watching the game and annoying each other through the commercials. Armin was personally proud that he could keep up so well with the game now, such a change from how he would roll his eyes and scurry from the room when his grandfather and his buddies would get together to watch football. He could predict plays and got invested in their outcome. He'd always had an instinct when it came to strategy, constantly besting his friends in video games, much to Eren's jealous rage.

As enjoyable as things had become, Armin was increasingly more on edge the longer he and Jean sat together in the stuffy pillow fort. Over the course of the game, they'd drifted away from their chair pillars as they'd both made mad dashes for the remote when commercial breaks happened. Their legs were subtly pressed against each other, making Armin overly aware of his body and each tiny movement, inwardly flinching when Jean did so much as cough. He'd never had a crush this intense, never had the opportunity to actually _look_ at someone this close-up before outside his friend group , crush notwithstanding. But, the crush was in fact standing, tapping at his brain, _screaming_ at him. Even Jean's stupid, obnoxious laugh was affecting him in really ridiculous ways- one of these being the impulse to dive over and pin the boy to the floor. He longed to be allowed to reach out and _take_.

It was all so pathetic, he thinks, how something as simple as their legs touching made his head spin.

He felt kind of guilty that the first guy who gave him the time of day at this school also happened to be his first major crush, really putting a damper on simply enjoying the pleasure of getting to know someone new. Figured. This was all very confusing for the poor boy and he'd rather just ignore the stirring feelings for the time being, despite Jean making it so very difficult. He kept doing things. Like _existing_.

“What's up? You've got that look on your face that means you're thinking too hard again.” Jean said, voice thick from staying quiet for a while.

“Nothing. I don't know. I'm just really glad we're friends.” Armin said quickly, chiding himself for blurting out pure embarrassment. “Sorry. I know people don't say things like that out loud but if you haven't realized yet, I'm kind of lame.”

Jean laughed at that and nodded, fully agreeing but not mocking him for it. He was silent a moment and then cleared his throat.

“Hey, Armin, can I ask you something?” Armin's face lit up curiously as Jean leaned to him with a strangely blank expression, making their comfortable companionship quite tense suddenly.

The typically inconvenient voice of a mother interrupted whatever moment was about to go down. “Dinner is ready, mon cher!Your friend can stay if he wants.”

Jean's entire demeanor changed at the announcement. “Sweet, I haven't eaten since lunch yesterday and you know how that turned out. Come on!” He raced up the stairs like a four year old on Christmas, leaving Armin with emotional whiplash. What just happened? Armin finally stumbled after him, but not without first getting caught up in the blankets on the fort's floor and grabbing the study materials as an afterthought.

He sat down at the kitchen island to a waiting bowl of pasta Jean had served for him, eyes going wide at his surrounding and actual existence feeling completely out of place.

“I hope this isn't a rude question but,” he hushed his voice in case Mrs. Kirchstein was lingering somewhere nearby, “what do your parents do? This kitchen looks like it was directly out of some Williams-Sonoma catalog.”

“Please, like my mother would shop somewhere so common as Williams-Sonoma.” There was an awkward pause that followed. “I'm _kidding_. Anyway. Dad's a corporate lawyer. My mom owns a restaurant in downtown Trost. Her second location, actually.”

“Where's the other one?”

“Back home, Montreal,” Jean answered through a mouthful of pasta. He added a little uncomfortably, “So, yeah. Guess you can say they do alright.”

“That explains the accent.”

“You can tell I have an accent? Damn. I've been working on hiding it, ughhh. The guys always blast me when I slip.”

“No, your mother's. I knew there was something different when I met her earlier. I didn't notice yours but now I'm really gonna listen for it.”

“...wait til I'm drunk,” Jean grumbled under his breath. Armin grinned into his pasta bowl, oh he would adore hearing _that._

He was caught off by another sudden appearance by Mrs. K, sweeping in to further embarrass her youngest child. Speak of the devil and she will appear, speaking in tongues.

“Jean, est-ce le garçon dont tu me parlais? Il semble vraiment gentil. Et il est intelligent? Mignon, aussi, hmm? Hello again, Armin. Dinner is good?” Armin perked up in attention at the sudden influx of French in this conversation. It was a lot of French, a lot of fast, incredibly fluent French.

“Mom! Not now. _Crisse_.” Jean shouted back, incredibly flustered and annoyed at the entire exchange. His face was in competition with the pasta sauce.

“Sorry, sorry. Impossible de résister. We'll talk later, oui? And no cursing!” She ruffled Jean's hair and left the kitchen with a wink, seeming very smug about whatever they'd been discussing. At least Armin now understood where Jean got a few of his habits from.

“Did you happen to catch any of that?”

Armin absolutely did not. “I can translate on paper but that was ridiculous.”

“Good.”

“What was she-”

“Chores.

“Ah.”

They ate in silence but for the sound of utensil against plate and the distant chatter of a television.

A sudden thought struck Armin after that wild exchange.

“Hey, wait. Why the hell are you taking French in school if your entire family is freaking fluent?”

“Easy A. I'm an athlete, man. Gotta keep my GPA up. It's nice to have some slack room in my schedule.”

Armin gaped at him in horror. Well, playful horror. “As a hard working, studious honor student who is now also a fellow student athlete, that offends me on so many levels!”

“That's because you're a fucking dork, Arlert.”

Jean smeared a trail of sauce across Armin's cheek and bolted from the room. Armin screamed in disgust and hurried after him, abandoning his plate in search of some cushion to pummel the awful, annoying, obnoxious, delightful boy currently ruining his life.

No more actual studying occurred that evening. Armin eventually went home with a conflicted heart and a rare lack of regret over a night not dedicated to homework. It was worth it. It was all so very worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the lab scene is a somewhat abridged version of a chemistry lab incident I had in high school. I was Jean- the dumb jock making the fireball, burning off people's arm hair, and using mean girls quotes to flirt with the boy I liked OOPS is that a spoiler? ;) ;)  
> FRENCH. I haven't spoken it in yeaaaaaars man and this went through a few translators and dictionaries and I still prob fucked it up. And that's not even counting the conversational quirks I'm messing up since they're technically french canadian and not euro french soooo. I tried, eh? I'm not putting translations because with the narrative, this is an Armin POV. Yall get the gist. If anyone wants to correct anything, put me on blast.  
> chapter title comes from the song Sexy Boy by Air and it's FRENCH so go listen to it. it was in a few teen movies back in the day and it's very "oh no he's hot" atmospheric so there we fuckin are, mates. thanks for reading this shitty story ;) ;)


	5. don't ask me what's on my mind

Ring. Ring. Pick up your phone, Eren.

Armin was back at it again- pacing his bedroom and just plain stressing. There was a lot on his mind and he really wanted to avoid confronting it alone. He needed to go out somewhere.

“Armin! Sorry, had to pause. But hey, where've you been all day?”

“Study group. Are you doing anything? Or anything important you can't walk away from?” He asked in a rush, not in the mood for small talk. He heard the sounds of gunfire from a television.

“Important? I'm on my fourth hour of Call of Duty since practice today and still nowhere near your score, what do you think?”

“So nothing important, great.”

“Screw you, I'm trying!”

Armin's leg shook relentlessly from where he'd perched on the bed. His pulse was jumping and he tried to even out his breathing away from the phone.

“Can we go out somewhere?” He asked, strained.

“Buddy, you alright, Arm?”

“...y-yeah. Cabin fever or something.” He didn't want to trouble Eren with yet another one of his freak outs. The guilt of skiving off schoolwork as a result of spending the evening distracted with Jean was weighing on him now that he'd gotten home, distanced from the blissful distraction. Top that with the feelings and secrets that were swirling around inside his mind and the boy was tipping over the edge into needing some deep breathing exercises, pronto. The balance of his life was off kilter and a drastic scenery change would do wonders for his turbulent mindset.

“Alright. Let's fucking go out. I'll save you from whatever academic hell corner you've backed yourself into and you can drag me out of this FPS nightmare.”

“Cool. See you in ten?”

Armin could hear the frantic sounds of stumbling around, muffled yells, and then stomping down stairs. “Fuck that, anything longer than seven minutes and I'll let your license-less ass drive my car! Time me!”

Their silliness was already enough to calm him down a little. “Ha! You're on.”

He relocated to the living room to wait, trying to still his jumping leg as he leaned against the back of the couch. The screech of wheels and an extended horn signaled that Eren had arrived. Incredibly quickly. They lived fairly close to one another but the timing was ridiculous. Armin raced outside to find the car parked halfway on the sidewalk.

“Nice park job,” Armin said as he leaned into the open window. Eren was out of breath and had the expression of a man who'd downed am entire case of Red Bull.

“Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds, fuck yes! New record?”

“You are astounding. Why do you insist on being so obnoxious and disregarding all laws of safety?”

“It's my signature, now get in the damn car.”

He turned up the radio and started driving. Armin dealt with Eren's played out Rage Against the Machine tape for about half a song before he ejected it and threw it in the backseat.

“Heeeey, why'd you do that?” He whined.

“Not in the mood tonight.” He turned on the radio to an Oldies station, which caused a groaning reaction from the hyped up boy driving. Their differing tastes in music were a rare argument between them but Armin could not deal with angry boy rock at the moment. Eren sped up faster as the singer gently wailed about daddy issues and cats in cradles, driving as if his car could outrun the unwanted music.

“Where are we even going?”

“Lucky Strike Lanes,” Eren answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Again? We were just there on Saturday.”

“Any other suggestions where to go at 9:30 on a weeknight? I'm not feeling the diner.”

Armin didn't have a counter argument and resigned to the decision. Not that he had a huge preference for where they went as long as it was somewhere. The thing was, their small group spent a weirdly substantial portion of their spare time at the various bowling alleys around town. It was cheap and always there as an ever present activity for their limited budget and stunted social lives. Mikasa usually joined the trips, but Armin didn't want to make their outing a thing. He needed to think out loud and the quiet of one of their houses or a phone call would not suffice, nor would too many opinions.

Soon enough, they were velcroing stale rental shoes on and sitting on the flimsy swivel chairs traditional of bowling alleys. Luckily, they managed to land a lane along one of the walls, away from the ever-present league people who practically lived at the establishment and took the game super seriously. Well, Eren took it seriously as well but it was easy to ignore when they all played. Let the boy do his thing. He really enjoyed knocking the pins down more than a normal person really should, like he had a personal vendetta and the only way to right the world was to bowl a perfect game (faaar from happening any time soon). Eren swore that he was going to try to join one of the serious league teams but he'd yet to make headway on that plan.

It was all very weird.

Armin fidgeted nervously in his seat while Eren started entering their info into the screen console. Thoughts and emotions swirled, revolving from school to the team to his romantic dilemma to school and back around the rotation again. He had no idea where to start the conversation. Secrets ate away at him and the longer he waited, the harder it would be to muster up the will to say any of the things he wanted to get out in the open.

“What should I type for your name? Going for jokes tonight or are we sticking traditional?”

Armin panicked and blurted out the most deluded way he could kick start their inevitable conversation.

“Uhhh how about 'gay' because that's what I am. Yeah. That's me! Your gay best friend, Armin. Oh wow. Oh...no...” Oh god, what the hell? Why did I say that? What the actual hell? Armin clenched his jaw shut hard and fixed his eyes on the straps of his bowling shoes.

Eren spun slowly around in his chair to face Armin, unsure chuckle squeaking out of the pained expression on his face. He looked like he'd ran into a door. Armin's eyes, though still trying to stare subterranean, were as wide as dinner plates. They both remained like some damn deer frozen in front of an eighteen wheeler, knowing life was over but doing nothing to get out of the flood of lights and save themselves. Someone needed to break the pounding silence, tension muting even the constant clatter of pins and cheesy theme music tinkling from the arcade.

“Uhhhhh, what? What did you say?”

“Wow! It wasn't supposed to come out like that. Oh! Come out! Ha! Sorry,” he groaned through uncomfortable laughter. “Wow, these sure are some words I am saying. Dang. I, uh, I screwed this up.”

His face grew a more and more alarming shade of red the longer he rambled while Eren continued to look like he'd been slapped, hard.

“So. Well. Hmm. You really are-”

“Yes! That's certainly the truth. I guess it's out there now? Information that you have. Look, I needed to start somewhere and I feel like you needed to know. Wanted to talk this out but-”

“Yikes.”

“Yes, exactly yikes. I hope you're not mad?”

“When did this happen?”

“I mean, it didn't happen? It's just how I am? I've known for years but, well. It's difficult to admit I guess. To you guys.”

“That's what I mean, why didn't you tell me!?” Eren yelled, throwing his arms in the air. Armin shushed him to quiet down.

“I... just explained that? I suppose I didn't know how you would react and that made me nervous. It's only a little thing about me, I don't know. But it feels really big sometimes. I only told grandpa in the spring. Other than that I guess it never felt relevant until now. Not a big deal. But you needed to know.”

“What's happening now, what's the big deal? Not that I'm weirded out, exactly-”

“Weirded out? You're weirded out?”

“No! I was saying that I wasn't! I'm your best friend!”

“Ok. Great. But stop yelling, please.”

“Sorry! I'm surprised is all. That you didn't tell me for so long.”

Armin pursed his lips, not knowing how to explain himself. “It's not that I didn't trust you. It's hard to explain unless you are, you know, unless you're going through it.”

“I guess. We've never kept things from each other before.”

“I”m sorry.”

“Don't be sorry. It's... not about me? That's the right thing to say, right?”

“Right. Yeah. It's fine. It's all fine.”

They sat in a strange sort of silence. Armin expected a strong reaction from Eren. The boy never did things in halves, only excesses. Eren's track record with unintentionally making situations about himself held true, but it wasn't unforgivable. Of course he'd feel slighted on the 'best friend bond' end of things, what with never having any huge secrets between them and all. It was a lot to consider. Eren suddenly stood up and took a seat next to Armin. He slid an arm around his friend's shoulders and squeezed him from the side, looking up to watch the disco lights swirl and bounce off the walls. He smiled and rested his head against Armin.

“Don't worry so much, dude. I'm here for you. You know that.”

“I know that. I do. Saying everything out loud was nerve racking, is all. You're the only one who knows outside of my family. Well, the only one who matters, really.”

“I'm honored. Truly, honored.”

“Oh, shut up,” he laughed, feeling at ease for the first time that night. “But thank you.”

“It's cool. Can I ask, why now though? You supposedly held this secret in for a while, is something else up?”

“Right.” Armin considered his next words carefully, unprepared so soon for Eren's exacting insight. “Well. It's relevant now because I kind of like somebody and while I sincerely doubt that anything's going to happen with that situation, I wanted to let you know. In case I meet anyone else in the near future and dating happens.”

“You like somebody? A dude somebody? Wow.”

“Did you miss the entire ordeal a moment ago about my gay little self liking 'dude somebodies' and all that?”

“Right. Exactly my point. But hold that thought.”

Eren took his first turn at the lane, feeling there should be some actual bowling taking place as they sat there discussing very important teenage issues in the bowling alley. His first roll was pretty disappointing but he tried not to overreact for Armin's sake. This wasn't his night to act like a fool.

The sentiment didn't last very long, though. “This secret guy you're in love with isn't me, is it?”

Armin sputtered, totally disbelieving. “What? Oh, no. Oh, gosh, no way.”

Eren rolled his second frame and then stormed back, two pins from a spare. “No way? What do you mean, no way? I'm a goddamn catch.”

Armin laughed and laughed and bowled terribly through his laughter, having to sit back down and take a breather before his second roll. Eren wasn't amused.

“What's so funny? Point to me when I'm supposed to laugh.” Armin did exactly that, causing Eren to crack a smile.

“It's not you, trust me. And I'm not in love with the real person either, geez. I just like them and it's frustrating and I wanted to vent but to vent you had to know the context and so here we are,” he rambled, breathless by the end.

“Who is it then?” Eren asked, not convinced.

“You act like I don't have any other friends! I've kissed boys before, I'll have you know. Girls, too, actually.”

“The fuck when?”

“Oh, from that silly tri-county Science Olympiad thing I tried that one quarter freshmen year. You'd be surprised what goes on at those hotel after-parties once the competitions are over. Nerds gotta stick together. Super awkward, but I was fourteen.”

“Shit, it's like I don't even know you anymore!”

They rolled a few more turns and joked about Armin's wild times (far from it) during his brief stint with an after school club. The two were pretty much back to normal, joking and ripping on each other in that special way that only best friends could justify. Armin felt light- at least lighter than he had an hour or so earlier. The stress of school and general balance was an ever-lingering threat in the far corners of his mind but he didn't dwell on that as he bowled and laughed. One step at a time, and a big step was taken that night, even if he'd stumbled his way through it.

“Still curious, are you gonna let me in on your big secret crush?”

“Eren! Why are you hung up on that?”

“As your best friend, I care. Maybe I can even help. We're basically in the same social circle, I've gotta know the dude.”

The accusation sent a chill through Armin. He really, really did not want anyone finding out about his feelings for Jean, let alone Eren of all people. No fucking way.

“Listen, you're about as subtle as a rampaging giant and I need to keep this on the down low. I think I'm fine with our friends knowing that I'm gay, if the topic ever comes up, but I don't need anyone's help in the romance department.”

“Ugh, why not?”

“It's my personal business! I'll take care of it.”

“I can't even guess?”

“Nope. You might not even know them. Actually, you probably don't.” A new blatant lie didn't sit well but this was even more desperate than his original big secret. “I know a lot more people than you, Mikasa, and the team, you know?”

“Fine! Kill my fun. Whatever. I'm over this topic. Let's just fucking bowl.”

And that was that on top of that.

They continued to bowl and discuss other subjects, like the upcoming first officially scheduled football game and all the excitement that went along with the rapidly approaching event. All their chatter, more than usual, was too distracting for Eren to bowl well and he eventually started blowing the shittiness of his game out of proportion. The kid may have mentally tried to act nonchalant for the evening, but his competitive nature, even when competing with his own records, got the best of him. He kept hitting splits and Armin feared that Eren was going to run down the lane and start manually knocking pins down himself. Wouldn't be the first time. There was a reason they avoided Big Al's Bowlerama. No one in their group liked to talk about the infamous incident.

“Are we done here? It's getting pretty late.”

“Don't you want to play one more round to redeem yourself? I do. I did so bad,” Eren complained.

Armin shook his head and dragged his protesting friend away from the lane. He could try to actually break the one hundred-fifty point range another time; they needed to get back home. It was unlike Armin to stay out this late on a school night, special circumstances be damned. Once they were in the car, the conversation turned again to more serious matters once the bowling score rant subsided.

“Look, I want to clear up what happened before.”

“Which thing that happened before? A lot was said tonight. A lot.”

“The 'you liking me' thing.”

Armin couldn't believe this was being brought up again. “...which I made pretty clear wasn't accurate at all?”

“Yeah, I got that. I wanted to let you know that I wasn't concerned about it because you were a dude, even though I'm not into that. It's because you're my best bro and I wouldn't want to be put in a position where I'd hurt your feelings.”

“Uhh. Ok. I'm fine, don't worry about it.” Armin was now more amused than embarrassed. Typical Eren letting his warped emotions get ahead of his mental filter from thought to mouth.

“If we're confessing tonight I wanted to let you know I'm in a similar boat. I like someone too and I think I also want to keep that on the down low. Didn't want to step on your moment before but I also really wanted to show you some solidarity.”

“Nice vocab word.”

“Fuck off, man. My tutoring is paying off. Anyway I wanted that out there so you didn't get your hopes up and then have, like, our friendship ruined or something. My heart belongs to another.”

“Oh my gosh, it's not you!”Armin couldn't believe the same conversation was happening all over again.

“I know! I'm only letting you know my reasons! And could we not mention any of this to Mikasa? That's part two to this situation.”

Wait. Curious. “Eren? Do you... like Mikasa? Is that what this is about? It's ok if you like her, I won't say anything.”

Eren swerved the car hard, causing Armin to yelp and brace himself on the dashboard. He stopped the car on the side of the road and turned to Armin with concerned shock.

“What the fuck?! Where did you get that idea? Gross, man! Ughhh.”

“Well, that's rude! I only assumed that's where this confessional was headed. With the 'ruining friendships' comment.”

“Wow. She's basically like my sister? To both of us, actually. So weird. Are you high?”

“Are you? Swerving the car like that! It's not her, then?”

“NO! No. Why is that your first guess?”

He shrugged, “Seemed like the most plausible option. No offense, but a secret hetero crush outside of our tiny friend group isn't as dramatic as anything I'm going through. Not that I don't care! Or aren't here for you! You know, Mikasa would have some weight to it, though. That's why I thought it.”

Eren resumed driving, initial shock at the accusation worn off.

“And that's all exactly why I didn't want to step on your moment inside! But really, this is the first time we've ever talked about our love lives. It's weird.”

“About time.”

“A little peeved you implied that I have no other option other than Mikasa. Now who's the rude one?”

“Are you forgetting that earlier you basically claimed that the only guy I know and have means to have a thing for is you? Hypocrite, if I ever know one.”

“What-fucking-ever. Same difference, sadder story.”

The rest of the car ride was filled with inane back and forth bickering until they arrived at Armin's place. The living room light was on, meaning that his grandfather was probably up waiting for him. Not to ream him out for staying out late on a school night, but genuine curiosity over his home-body grandson being out so late at all. It was a rare occurrence and the very thought made Armin feel as lame as ever. The boys said their goodbyes and regretfully traded woes over how tired they'd be in homeroom the next morning.

“Hey, kid, late night,eh? Study group? Football thing?” Grandpa Arlert asked as his grandson traipsed through the door, quarter to midnight.

“Out bowling with Eren, actually. Had some stuff to talk about.”

“Everything alright? I could hear you stomping around before you left.”

“It's...fine. I had a lot on my mind. I'm alright now.” Armin paused but felt like he wanted to get the main event of the night off his chest once and for all, the final nail in the coffin of anxiety over the matter. At least in the immediate time being. “Came out to him tonight. So, there's that. Not gonna keep it a state secret anymore.”

“Good to hear. Proud of you, boy.” He stood up and clapped Armin on the shoulder, drawing him into a quick embrace. “So are you two official now, or what?”

Armin sucked in a deep breath and tried not to scream.

“No. We are not a thing. He's not into guys.”

“That's too bad. Sorry it didn't work out, you're quite a catch! No matter what that boy thinks. I'm sure there's someone else at that school for you.”

“Oh my gosh, I don't like Eren! I have never liked Eren in that way! Why is that the automatic assumption?!”

Grandpa Arlert simply cackled and wandered off to his first floor bedroom as his grandson muttered under his breath as he headed upstairs, in the opposite direction. Teenagers, who knew what they wanted? He sure as heck didn't.

Regardless of the multiple embarrassing insinuations throughout the evening, Armin was glad he'd gone through and admitted the one major thing that had been bothering him for a long time. He'd been putting off the admission for months now, maybe even longer. Shinganshina, though physically bordering the known to be more inclusive and progressive Trost District, wasn't famous for an inclusive or tolerant school atmosphere when it existed. Armin's run-ins with bullying had plagued him since he was a little kid in the district, and the same thorns from his youth spread their ranks as the years went on. Being picked on for being the brainy teacher's pet to having slurs flung at him before being shoved against a locker was the unfortunate trajectory from elementary to middle school, and it only got worse further on.

Though Eren never picked up on the base level truth of Armin's guarded secrets, he always stood up for him and helped fight his battles. Telling Eren his secret had been relatively painless. He never truly thought his best friend would mock or abandon him at the mere mention of the big G reveal, but that didn't meant it hadn't been scary to think about.. He'd tell Mikasa the next time they were alone. Now Armin only had his other issues to worry about.

Mainly, at the moment as he sat contemplating in his bedroom, unable to sleep, was the unfortunate problem involving one Jean Kirchstein.

Jean was funny and kind to him and really, unfairly attractive in his opinion. He admired the guy's way of always speaking his mind whereas Armin tended to hesitate (or blurt things out he instantly regretted in a panic). Yes, Jean often took things way out of line with his classmates, especially Eren on and off the field, but Armin still liked that about him. He was genuine and made Armin feel confident in a way he'd never felt before, being the entire catalyst in his trying new things that year. Completely. Maybe it could be chalked up to hero worship, but Armin felt like that was a little too easy of a reason to write off and ignore his feelings. Surely all the attention Jean paid to him had to count for something? No one since Eren and Mikasa when he was so young had sought him out as a friend for very long. Nothing would ever stick. He also wasn't used to the camaraderie of a team and it was so hard to not taint the stirrings of a new friendship with growing attachment, far beyond what was appropriate.

Armin curled up on his bed and mulled it over. Was it worth eventually mentioning his feelings to the guy and possibly risking the whole friendship they'd been building? Sure, Armin had a small crush here and there, but never to this extent. This was reality and reality held the possibility of acting upon it, whether successful or full of rejection. What was the protocol in this situation? How could he tell if Jean even liked guys even a little? He couldn't ask anyone close to Jean and risk giving himself away in the process.

He did what any resourceful and intelligent high school scholar would do in the face of an investigation- turn to the internet. He booted up his woefully out of date desktop and logged in to his Facebook account with the mindset of conducting some research. He hated to admit it, but it was such a useful website for stealthily gathering information on a person, even if it was sort of falling out of favor these days. It could still prove helpful. Armin clicked on Jean's page after searching his name and found that it wasn't set to private. For some reason, that didn't surprise him. He then began the process of digitally prying into his new friend's life, hoping to discover some helpful hint about his mysterious sexuality.

Shoot. He didn't have anything listed under the 'interested in' category. That would have been too easy. And anyway, not that it always meant what it said. Armin's was listed as 'women' even though that hadn't been the case during any of the years that he'd maintained a Facebook. Should he change that now or was that a really tacky move? Fuck it, he changed it on his page, now publicly displaying his actual preferences. Well. There it was in print for the world to see. That sure felt anticlimactic.

As he navigated back to Jean's page a notification from Eren popped up.

“Eren Jaeger liked Armin Arlert's profile information change” and he commented “get it armin”.

Armin rolled his eyes and responded. “Get off my page, Eren. Go back to NOT beating my COD score or GO TO SLEEP.”

All he got was a stupid “;P” face in return.

Enough distractions. There wasn't a lot of recent stuff on Jean's page, just a dumb video link from Marco here and there or a generic status about football practices or some witty but pointless comment about a television show. Armin delved deeper into the profile, clicking on photo albums, careful not to accidentally like something and completely give himself away. He mainly found tagged shots from old football games, tons of blurry party photos that weren't helping anything, and photos from a family vacation.

Wait. Hello there. This piqued Armin's interest. Jean certainly looked like he had a grand day at the beach, lightly tanned and slightly covered in sand in a totally appealing way, wearing quite an interesting swim suit, if you could even call it that. That sure was a lot of leg. How could this be allowed to happen? Armin was blushing incredibly hard as he scrolled through the rest of the album, compulsively. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the screen but for a brief frantic second when he ran to his bedroom door to check if it was locked before rushing back to his computer. Good lord almighty.

Jean's family vacation to the French coast over the summer had just become his new favorite thing. He really needed to stop looking at these pictures, if the growing tightness in his pants was anything to go by. Fuck, he had a problem. He felt so creepy. And yet, he didn't want to look away. He stared at the joyful expression in one of the pictures where Jean was making direct eye contact with the camera. He shuddered a little and closed his eyes, checking to see if that image was still burned into his mind. It was. It really was. He felt overheated and so embarrassed, but so glad for it all. It was safe in his mind, even though he feared facing the boy himself the next day.

He exited his browser completely and retreated to his bed, no new details to help his case, only uncomfortable arousal and slight guilt. Whatever. Not a big deal. It's not as if Jean had any way of knowing that Armin looked at those photos. Besides, they were in a public album. Anyone could see them. The flimsy justification didn't make him feel any better though.

Maybe he'd focus on working up the nerve to mention something about his feelings to Jean, even just a little hint to start it off and go from there. What was there to lose? If he could gain a friend so easily then he could certainly lose one and still be right back where he started. If he was going to hate him for a small, non-committal confession then so be it. He figured after the football season would be best, absolutely no need to add additional trouble and drama to an already intensive season. They hadn't even had their first game yet. There was more than enough time to assess this Jean situation.

Maybe he'd even meet someone else more plausible and get over his crush, move on, and forget about the whole thing. He couldn't be the only guy who liked guys at his school; he just needed to pay more attention. Maybe it would be easier now that he wasn't planning on hiding. He knew that he was being surprisingly optimistic about the situation, hoping for the best from his new jock friends, but they seemed like such contradictions from what he'd come to anticipate about guys like them. In his heart, he hoped they'd react calmly when the now inevitable truth of his sexuality came out. If they let that impede on their excitement over their new kicker, so be it. Armin didn't need the trouble.

He hoped it wouldn't be an issue. The tiny flare of new found anxiety was pushed deep down, now that there were more pressing issues at hand. Or, well, were soon to be just that in the most literal sense.

Those wonderful photos of Jean were still occupying Armin's thoughts. He willed away all the lingering guilt and anxiety and allowed himself to slip down his boxers and relieve some of his stress and pent up frustration, imaging he was with a certain someone on that warm and sunny beach in France...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow these chapters always seem so much longer in MSword but bam here we go  
> i hope that entire exchange was as awkward as possible because they're 16 and that is a hella awkward age and i'm like a decade past that age but wow was it fucking awkward when i lived it and now when i write it. also the trio always hangs out at diners and bowling alleys because when i was awkward and 16 all i did was hang out at diners and bowling alleys.  
> also also don't take anything in this chapter as a rip on eren/armin as a pair because i love that pair but this is Not The Fic For That. eren will be paired in the background with a lady character i love very much and well, it's all fun. but it's def happening. if you're super worried and want to know, message me on tumblr to ease your pain. but it's cool, it's chill. it's fun.


	6. this must be the place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really need to do a heavy edit of this chapter but i haven't posted in a long time so here we gooo

Tonight was the night. The first game of the season for Trost Senior High's Warriors was set to begin in less than half an hour. Reiner gave the team a short pep talk in the locker room before Coach Hannes attempted to say some inspiring words. Hannes taking the spotlight never exactly went over well. The guy was a pretty good coach on the field, but his speeches left something to be desired. None of this really mattered to Armin as he stood nearly shaking in his gear. There were few times in his short life where he'd felt more nervous than this. He felt incredibly small under all the padding, jersey stretched over unnaturally broad shoulders from his equipment.

The atmosphere in the locker room made his heart race. Some players were getting hyped up, energetic at the thought of the season's start, while others stood stoic and focused. If they won the coin flip, Armin probably wouldn't have to start the kick-off. But if they lost it, well, he'd better pull himself together fast. The clock was ticking.

“Armin, you ok?” Eren asked. He was standing resolute and focused with a spark in his eyes, something Armin desperately wished he could match.

“I'm fine. I'll be fine soon.” Armin whispered, trying to get his hands to stop trembling as he gripped his helmet cage to steady himself. _Do not show weakness. Not now._

Jean leaned over to whisper to him as well. “That's right, you're going to be fine. Don't stress out.” He tapped his helmet to Armin's, giving him a reassuring smile. The gesture would normally cause a different kind of flipping in Armin's stomach but he was beyond that mindset right now. He didn't even notice the hand lingering on his elbow, a presence steady at his side, as couch called for a final huddle. The team put hands once more before they lined up and walked out to the stadium. The sight that greeted them on the way was one Armin would certainly never forget.

Students, parents, and a general assembly of the community lined the ropes sectioning off the path leading from the school locker rooms to the football field entrance. Some held banners or flags but everyone was screaming with excitement for the team. Armin's heart stopped, in a totally good way, overwhelmed at the support and complete jubilation of the crowd. It was just high school football, right? Regardless, there were the faces of his classmates in the mass, the people he passed quietly by every day in the hallways. And there _he_ was, in uniform, walking with the team through the parted sea of fans.

The Trost High School team had been runner up in the state championship the previous year, and fairly close the year before that. The district was eager for an actual winning title, one they hadn't captured in any recent decade. The pressure was palpable.

“This is unreal! I can't wait to get in the stadium!” Eren yelled, bumping into Armin with excitement, clearly taking in all the energy from the crowd.

Armin almost froze up when they crossed onto the field, bright lights above blinding him momentarily. He was in a daze and put faith in the muscle memory of his feet as he jogged with the team as they came closer to the banner being held up by a few of the cheerleaders. The captains at the front cried out as they broke through the paper sign. Armin caught Mikasa's attention as they passed each other, opposite directions. She brightened at the sight of her friends, jumping in her place instead of the half-hearted motions she's been miming. She called out their names, barely heard above the cheers from the other girls.

Armin still felt nervous, but he was considerably less uneasy about the whole thing as they began their warm-up. This was routine, this was just like practice. Practice with a thousand people watching him. He kept taking deep breaths and tried not to think about the scale of everything. He was fine.

The team stood around and waited as the coaches, captains, and referees consulted at midfield. Armin took the time to look around the stands, coming to terms with the intimidating setting. He smiled at the sight of his friend Connie leading the student section as an unofficial mascot. The boy had painted himself in the school colors and was playing along with the cheerleaders, managing to sneak in his own megaphone somehow. He was drowned out by the marching band, but added a little more noise to the chaos. Armin was grateful for the helmet in place on his head; it would be incredibly embarrassing if his teammates saw the tears stinging his eyes. What a sap.

It was like an out of body experience.

“Armin. ARMIN! Snap out of whatever world you're lost on, did you hear?”

“Hear what?” He said in a panic. Eren gave his friend a sympathetic look and nodded. “Oh no. Oh you've got to be kidding me.”

“You'll do fine. I know you will.”

\- - - - - - - - - -

Trost lost the coin-flip.

He didn't remember how he managed to get there, but Armin was set up behind the ball, staring it down and preparing for the initial kickoff to start the game. The crowd was holding back for the moment and braced themselves as the band played to a climbing crescendo. Armin back peddled and scanned the field one last time, getting a nod from one of the players to the side. He released the breath he was holding and rushed forward to kick, the rest of the team jogging in formation with him.

Contact. The ball soared through the air and Armin froze on the spot; his job over for the most part until any scoring situations later on. He faintly heard someone calling his name and sprung into action as he remembered he was standing in the middle of the field. Armin ran off to the side and really hoped that no one decided to tackle him before he could be switched out. He braced himself in the event of a body slam. The tackle never came and he was safe for now.

Armin was met with praise from the coaches and other players when he returned to the mob of team members surrounding the bench. He had to stay focused since he was going to have to go back in at some point, but for now he was feeling pretty good. He didn't trip or kick the ball into the sidelines or anything, and for that he was proud. Stress rolled off in waves as he glanced behind him to the stands, still not completely wrapping his head around the fact that he was standing on the field as opposed to sitting in the stands, or more likely sitting at home on a typical Friday night.

The rest of the game flew by in a blur. Armin completed his first field goal successfully, almost messing it up but pulling through and sailing the ball between the posts. Half time was laid back, congratulating each other and beaming with the high of being ahead in points at the half. Armin expected some deep, inspiring words to spurn them onwards with wisdom, but Hannes stayed out in the hallway chatting with Principal Erwin and not at all concerned with his team's focus. He trusted the captains to keep the boys in line.

This was nothing at all like Armin expected. He'd watched so many sports movies in preparation for this and he was weirdly surprised at reality. It felt... so normal. They all shared an intense passion but it was routine. It was not a life or death, be-all-end-all melee to the end, but a group of teenage boys with a love of the game and a skill set to lead them confidently through it. And they believed in _him_ , that he had something to add of value. He was stupidly happy and ready to score some more that night once they returned to the field.

**FINAL SCORE: Warriors 35, Visitors 13**

The team's first win was a solid moment of proven skill, a more than decent way to begin the season. The visiting team wasn't a rival, but they weren't a traditionally low ranking performer. It was hard fought, not a total blow-out, but the game was exciting overall. Armin finally got tackled at the end of the game when they were celebrating in their post-game huddle, but it was by Eren and in good intention. They yelled and rolled around as those in the vicinity laughed at the new player's antics.

“We won! We won and we don't fucking suck, Armin!” Eren yelled from where he lay on the AstroTurf, wiping at the black under his eyes. Armin dragged Eren up since everyone was starting to head back to the locker room.

The big announcement came inside while gear was discarded and two dozen or so sweaty boys changed.

“Everyone listen up! Immediately after you get your shit together, head over to my place. We're celebrating. Tell whoever you want, my place is free all night!” Jean announced once they were all back in the locker room.

Armin's eyes lit up at this, catching Jean's attention once he stepped down from shouting on the bench. He gestured a thumbs up and tilted his head, questioning Armin's interest. Armin returned it, letting Jean know he was going. He had to go; it was exactly what he would hope would happen sometimes during the season, surprised that a party opportunity arose so quickly.

“Party time, woooooo!” cheered Connie, who somehow managed to get into the locker room. He high-fived Sasha, his partner in crime. What was he in there? Why was _she_ in there?

“Yo, Connie. Get the fuck out of the locker room!” Reiner yelled, side-eying Sasha as she ogled the men in various states of undress. Connie laughed and pulled her away, skipping off to spread the word to the right people that Jean was throwing a massive party to celebrate the first game of the season. A faint ' _let's get fucked up_ ' could be heard as they retreated down the hallway and out into the parking lots.

\- - - - - - - - - -

“Are you going to the thing?” Eren asked as he and Armin piled their stuff into his car. He looked rather pissed off, quite a rapid turn from the sheer joy he expressed when he was rolling around on the field, almost in tears earlier.

“Of course. Why do you look so upset? We just won!”

“The whole idea is so obnoxious. The party.”

“Eren. People party. The football team probably does this all the time. No one's forcing you to go, but it could be fun.”

“I really don't want to go to that sure to be shitfest. You're really going?”

“I really am. I want to see what it's like. We've never been to something like this. I'm curious.” Armin wanted to go and it would be nice to have Eren there as a buffer, but he also needed a ride in the first place.

Eren sighed loudly. “If it was at Reiner's or Thomas's place, fine, I'm chill with those guys I guess. The party's at Jean's fucking house, though! Ughh.”

“So?! You're teammates now. Gotta get past the silly grudge. How many different detentions have you had since that first one.”

Too many, really.

“I don't like the doucheface in general but that's even besides the point. It's going to be awful. And I don't drink and everyone's gonna try to make me and they'll all be embarrassing.”

“You don't have to drink. It's fine. We can still have fun. Look, you won't know until you go, alright? We can always leave.”

Eren exaggerated another groan and parked in front of Armin's house. They continued weighing the pros and cons of the night as they made their way inside. Eren lagged behind to raid the kitchen while Armin ran up to his room to start getting ready.

This was his first high school party, a fantasy world he'd imagined for years and years, mind full of Hollywood ideas of what teenagers do when their parents left the house empty. He'd always sympathized with the token dorky characters in films like _Sixteen Candles_ or _Can't Hardly Wait_ , now wondering if he was going to have more of a _Varsity Blues_ experience now that it was a football party- but without the hammed up Texan accents. And hopefully without the nude stolen police car joyride, too. Needless to say, expectations were high but undefined. He knew real life was way different than the movies, but what other frame of reference did he have?

Eren watched in concern as Armin flitted around the room, tossing shirts behind him as he paced around and rejected articles of clothing. Eren criticized everything Armin was doing, getting balled up clothing thrown at him in return for his comments. He finally decided on a light blue button-up, rolling the sleeves and spinning for a final verdict. Eren did not fucking care at all and yelled at him to hurry up if they were going, leaving the room completely in hysterical laughter when Armin started dabbing on a bit of cologne. What? He owned one moderately nice bottle and never had a reason to wear it.

“You smell nice,” Eren mocked as they walked downstairs. The comment earned him a glare and a shove.

“Can it. I need to get something before we leave. Don't freak out.”

Armin pried open the cabinet over in the corner and pulled out a large, mainly full bottle of brandy. He and his grandfather would occasionally sit by their small fireplace and share a glass of the drink at night. He was used to the taste of the stuff, even if it was a bit strong, bringing it along in the likely event that the only thing at the party was cheap beer. Hopefully the missing bottle wouldn't be noticed for a while.

“Are you kidding me? That's a lot of alcohol,” Eren protested. Armin ignored his friend and headed out to the car. Eren continued blasting Armin for his liquor choice and stealing the bottle. “I don't even know much about alcohol but that is such an old man drink!”

“Oh, shoosh. I'm planning on having a nice time and Natty Light is not going to be how I get there.”

“Old man brandy and cologne for a high school banger. You are truly one of a kind.”

They arrived at Jean's house to find cars lining both sides of the street and crammed into the long driveway that wrapped in a U through part of the front yard. Hopefully the neighbors were the kind to turn a blind eye to obvious high school shenanigans and not the uppity kind to call the cops at the first sign of mischief. Jean's neighborhood wasn't exactly a gated community, but it edged close enough to the type without having the actual physical barricade. Eren suppressed his low whistle so that only he could hear, angry that he was actually impressed with the sight of the property. Not wanting to completely fall for it, he parked partially on the lawn in one of the last open spaces along the driveway despite Armin's pleading to circle back and find somewhere else.

Once the parking argument was over, they headed up to the front door to attend their first high school party, obviously well underway. Armin was buzzing with excitement. He was kind of glad that they'd wasted a bit of time back at the house getting ready since everyone would have started in on drinking already. He figured that with everyone else already content and having a good time, he'd probably fall into the same pattern right along with them instead of fretting around nervously for too long. He was definitely nervous- that much he could admit.

After knocking on the door, feeling weird about simple entering on his own, he was treated to his second tackle of the night.

“Armin! You made it! I was getting worried you weren't going to show.” Jean crushed the smaller boy to his chest, reaching out to swat at Eren's face once his surly presence was noticed. “And you brought this guy! Awesome! Here, take my drink. Need a new one anyway.”

He pushed his red solo cup, half full of warm beer, into Eren's hands and led Armin away with an arm slung heavy around his shoulders. Eren was left at the doorstep alone with the cup and a growing feeling of rage.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?” Eren yelled to Jean. He was out of earshot and would not have given a damn what Eren did otherwise.

The cup was dumped onto the welcome mat out of spite and then tossed into the bushes. Eren made his way inside in search of Mikasa since Armin was now with the enemy. After the game, Mikasa told them that she was probably going to stop by the party and Eren hoped she followed through with that, else he was going to be retreating even faster than he planned, which wasn't very long at all. He had no interest in drinking up in the kitchen with Armin.

\- - - - - - - - - -

“Sorry I took so long getting here.”

“No worries, man. We started right away but you can definitely make up for that now,” Jean said with a slight slur. He was riding a pretty nice buzz already.

“Well I'm definitely ready to go.” Not entirely truthful, but his nerves were ignored. That's what the promise of alcohol was for, right? Let those nerves drown.

Jean gave Armin a once over and grinned, grabbing the brandy bottle and placing it on the counter in admiration, clearly impressed.

“What's this? Holding out on me, eh?”

“Ha, yeah. I'm not really used to beer so I raided my grandfather's cabinet and brought this.” He took a deep breath and then looked Jean straight in the eye. Time to go. “W-want to do a shot with me?”

“Yes. Yes absolutely I wanna do a shot.”

Brandy wasn't the type of liquor that should be thrown back in shots, but it felt like the most natural thing to do in the situation. Sixteen years old and riding high from the first win of the season? Time to make some celebratory mistakes. Armin looked at the glass that was thrust into his hand and smirked at the glittery pink “ _girl's night out_ ” text printed on the glass. Jean burst out laughing when Armin spun it around for him to see.

“From my sister's bachelorette party,” Armin jolted a little at how Jean's accent slipped on some of those words. He could see what the boy was referring to the other day. “It's funny, since she helped get all the booze and got my parent's out of town for the weekend. But whatever, pour it out.”

Armin popped open the bottle and filled their glasses. Jean grinned wide, swaying a little as he lifted his glass, obviously far ahead on drinking. They counted down, and clinked glasses together before downing their shots of brandy. Armin struggled to get it all down in one go, finding it much different than leisurely sips from a tumbler fireside with his grandfather while they enjoyed a documentary on the history channel. The warmth of the sudden drink spread across his face to match the slight burn down his throat, eyes watering as it hit his system. Jean let out an excited yell and slammed the empty glass on the counter, demanding a refill.

One, two, three: drink. Throw 'em back til you lose count.

“Fuuuuuck, that is some classy shit. You're a real classy dude, real classy,” Jean mumbled after he drained another shot. “This shit's good, little rougher than the cognac we had last Thanksgiving but, still.”

Armin blinked hard and blurted out, “Say cognac again.”

“Shut the fuck up, dude,” he laughed, really trying to flatten his ever-growing more pronounced accent.

They both did a few more shots before Armin had to take a break from continuous shots. He refused to throw up after barely being there twenty minutes and wondered how Jean was faring so well. Must be a seasoned pro after what was most likely his third year of after parties following football games.

“Isn't the saying, _beer before liquor- never sicker_?”

Jean made an unimpressed face and leaned closer. “Psssh, it's all about pacing. So don't believe everything you read, smarty-pants.”

Armin didn't know which statement to focus on- the fact that the boy who'd just downed three shots of brandy practically without stopping mentioned pacing, or the fact that his crush had embarrassingly called him smarty-pants. What a dweeb.

A few other people wandered into the kitchen and excitedly asked to do some of that 'classy shit' along with them. Armin did another shot with the new little group and decided to slow down after that, taking in the contact of excitement rather than chugging it all down right away. _Pacing_. He was starting to feel the effects already, not expecting it too happen so quickly.

Better take one more very large shot to even himself out, that made total sense. It was intoxicating, in ways beyond the alcohol. The togetherness at doing something reckless spurred him onwards and far away from the anxiety of his everyday life. They were all young and free with no repercussions for their actions. They were game winners. They were teenagers and they were invincible.

They were all getting really fucking drunk.

It was like stepping into a fishbowl; voices were a little louder than normal and the walls looked like they were closing in. Not in some psychedelic nightmare way, but the room seemed smaller than when they'd first arrived. Everything was incredibly warm. Whoa. Who were all these new people? What did he just say out loud? Everyone was laughing and drinking and Jean was leaning against Armin's side. They were all sitting on the floor and... how had everyone gotten down there? Armin was giggling with half a glass of some mixed drink compiled from the liquor selection assembled on the counter as Jean nursed a cup of straight vodka.

“Aw. This was such a nice shirt,” Armin said sadly, noticing now that half of whatever he'd been drinking ended up spilled on his shirt sleeve rather than making it into his mouth. “I guess now the classy factor is over.”

“Take it off!” Some guy from the team yelled. Was he a defensive linesmen? Was it Franz? No, what was his name? Whoever it was, they laughed and laughed as Armin voiced his thoughts out loud.

He ignored the demands of one of the cheerleaders now chanting for him to take his shirt off. She huffed and took hers off instead when he protested, shrieking with laughter and bolting from the room. Armin was incredibly confused and incredibly warm. And being dragged across the tile as he whined about his spinning head. Now he was stumbling into the living room. Too many people lingering along walls and yelling over the music playing from somewhere unknown, a long distance dedication from the party gods above. Oh. It was Jean leading him forwards, not doing so well himself in the coordination department but he was doing his damn best, thank you.

“You're a strong guy,” Armin mumbled.

“Taking you to the Olympics. Fucking Rio! Vive moi!” He dropped Armin onto the couch and flopped down gracelessly next to him. Despite his brain pleading for him not to, Armin curled up against Jean's side. He didn't seem to mind, or he was too drunk to care.

“Jean, will you win me a gold medal?”

“You bet your ass, I will. I'll... I have no idea what we're talking about.” Jean laughed into the couch cushions, content in his own little world until another teammate entered the living room and yelled for him.

Armin closed his eyes and leaned back against the arm rest, pushing away from being tangled with Jean. Thinking was too difficult, and talking was certainly out of the question in his spinning mess of fuzzy edges and double vision. He needed the room to stop spinning before anything else. Jean disappeared at some point but returned to the living room with arms laden with as many beer cans as he could carry. They were passed around to the small group of teammates who had gathered.

“Dude, look at little Arm. He's so trashed. Someone check on the kid,” Reiner commented, gesturing at Armin lying dazed and draped across the couch. He watched Jean fumble a third time with the tab of his can.“And you're not looking much better.”

“Armin? Hey. You alive?” Jean asked as he gently shook Armin's shoulder.

He sat up slowly with a groan, wishing he was somewhere dark and not in the blinding white-walled living room, too bright and pristine for the debauchery happening in the area.

“He's alive! Our new little kicker! Let's get a hand for the kid,” Reiner called out.

“ _Don't call me little_ ,” Armin grumbled, unheard.

Everyone in the room cheered and congratulated him, then moved on to making toasts to various players and their significant plays from the night. Someone was trying to hold a conversation with Armin about one of the plays he'd suggested with success during the second half and he tried his hardest to keep up. The conversation turned out to be useful in giving him something to focus on in the desperation of gaining back a little sobriety. He declined offers of more drinks, needing a break from the swirling feeling that was beginning to fade slightly. Barely, but enough that he could keep his head from lolling back onto the couch.

“Hmm, you're smiling a lot,” Jean said quietly during a lull in the conversation. “Nice to see you not so tense for once.”

“I'm... good. Great, even.” Breathless, _pathetic_. That dopey smile Jean was returning did things to him he needed to not dwell on when he was feeling so loose and free.

He turned away from the heavy gaze of a boy so far inebriated and watched nervously as the pyramid of beer cans people were building on the table threatened to clatter right into his own lap. He fidgeted absently with the hem of his shirt, wincing at how gross the feeling of dampness from his earlier spilled drink.

“Glad to be here, really. More interesting than how I used to spend my Friday nights,” Armin admitted. Jean attempted to ruffle his hair but ended up lightly smacking him in the face as he made a slurred comment about how articulate Armin still sounded. Or, at least the word he attempted sounded sort of like 'articulate.'

The descended further into drunken disaster as the next hour slid by. Armin began to sober up, having not drank anything too hard since his quick train wreck of decisions in the kitchen. He sat quietly on the couch while the music was turned up louder and more people gathered in the living room. Marco stupidly tried to start up a game of poker on the coffee table with the people who weren't currently attempting to dance on the other side of the room (more like yelling and jumping when the beat dropped with beer cans in their hands). The game rapidly turned into some sort of horrifying mash-up of uno and war once those involved realized that a group of trashed boys were in no way capable of holding a convincing bluff in their state.

The ridiculous game became more heated than it had any business being. Reiner was made to stand in the corner as punishment for eating the king of spades instead of turning it over to the hand winner. Marco, the epitome of an emotional drunk, sobbed into his palms at the death of the king. Jean leaned against his side and comforted him, finally leaving his place by Armin's side where he'd been firmly planted for most of the last hour.

He took the absence as an escape; he needed to get some air. Despite the alcohol in his system waning into a duller buzz, the temperture inside Jean's house was too high for him to calm down. He was having trouble staying steady and breathing even for reasons other than the liquor and mass of bodies filling the living room. Every accidental touch between he and Jean set him on edge, made him shiver and burn. Armin headed out tot he backyard to get some of that much needed fresh air.

On the way through the house, he found Mikasa and Eren over by the beer pong table, pleased that he predicted one of those would pop up at the party. He stopped to watch for a little while and cheer his friends on before continuing outside. Eren was making Mikasa drink his losses, refusing to cave and drink anything- which was fine. He didn't need to be such a dick about it to Armin, scolding his friend when Armin filled him in on his night so far. Armin brushed it aside but didn't feel like lingering around the game any longer. Despite the minor annoyance, he was mainly impressed with how Mikasa retained her stoic concentration during the game despite the empty stack of red cups on her side of the table.

The night air was incredibly refreshing. Armin settled on the porch edge, watching the small groups who'd had similar ideas of taking the party outside. He had a hunch about what they were doing in their circle down by the shed, watching the telltale flicker of a lighter every so often, paired with carefree laughter and the drifting of sweet smoke. He smiled with a hum and leaned back on the wooden deck, glancing up to look at the stars. Only a few shone through the light pollution due to downtown being decently close, but it didn't exactly matter. He knew they were up there somewhere.

At least it was quiet. He needed space to think. The Jean situation was causing him so much conflict and tension. Armin had come to terms with his crush, that was fine, strictly swearing to himself that he simply needed to make it through the season before reevaluating. Nights like the one of the party made everything so difficult. Why did he have to be so nice and why did alcohol have to make straight boys so overly friendly and handsy? Jean was like that even when not drinking, though, always up in everyone's space as if his loud voice wasn't enough of an attention grabber. He was obnoxious, for sure, but endearingly so. It all caused unnecessary mixed signals and unwanted temptation to do something incredibly incriminating on a night such as Armin was dealing with.

“There he is! Found Armin,” came a booming voice from the doorway.

Armin watched as a few of the guys from the card game catastrophe stumbled out onto the porch. So much for gathering mental clarity in solitude. Jean, of course it was fucking him, squeezed beside Armin on the steps. Admittedly, he was grateful for the warmth of a body pressed against him even if he felt a new wave of nauseousness as a result.

“Why were you out here all alone?” Jean asked. “You missed Reiner doing the best Shadis impression ever.”

“I'll bet it was. Needed some fresh air though. Head's spinning.”

“Oh shit, I have a plan.”

Jean placed his sweaty hands on either side of Armin's face, gently turning it towards his own, cradling it in his own strange attempt to keep him still. Armin froze, holding in his breath. What was happening? How drunk was Jean?

“What...are you doing?” Armin strained to say, cheeks pressed in firm.

“Making your head stop spinning?”

“I think you're making it worse.”

He gently pried Jean away and felt a wave of panic when he found himself lingering on their joined hands. Why wasn't he letting go? Jean was going to wrench himself away in disgust any moment, he knew it, but Armin couldn't help the sick part of him that almost needed to see what he could get away with. They sat in silence, hands still overlapping on the deck while Armin's heart ran a marathon in his chest. Well, it was attempting to run but kept tripping over it's own clumsy feet and sobbing why over and over again, louder still with the gentle brush of a thumb over the back of his hand. That's it, this was over. Someone call his bluff.

He ended up being the one to rip his hand away, disgust at himself for letting it get so far, even though the act was incredibly simple. Jean frowned and got up from his spot on the porch, wordlessly going to sit with a circle forming sitting out in the grass. Armin fled.

Like in the days of his past, his flight instinct took over any progress he'd made as he rushed through the house and far, far away from the backyard. Eventually he barricaded himself in the upstairs bathroom, water cool on his heated face as he crouched over the sink, forehead resting against the mirror. Why did alcohol do this to people? It made him read falsely into things and made straight boys act like their casual, lingering touches were anything but drunken playfulness. The bright light of sobriety did not allow for these illusions and Armin really wanted to go back in time, never to have stepped foot into the party. He was better off not knowing what they were like. Knowledge didn't make things any better. Ignorant bliss and Hollywood fantasy could save a heartache before it became too heavy.

Maybe he was projecting and his wishful thinking had substance. No. Nevermind that. He splashed more water on his face and suppressed the threat of watery eyes spilling. Armin refused to cry in a house full of his teammates and, furthermore, not in a bathroom so garishly decorated. Fucking rich Kirschtein family and their necessity for the over the top in a time that Armin needed simplicity and things made clear. He was fiddling with a giant fake fern in the corner as he tried to calm down when he heard a crash and a string of foreign curses.

The noise startled him from his mental breakdown of self pity. He pried open the door to find the very root of his problems sprawled in the hallway on his side, one arm cradling a bottle and the other latched onto a toppled end table. Great.

Jean was giggling and mumbling to himself, definitely not in English. He snapped his focus towards the bathroom when Armin coughed loudly to get his attention. Armin waved at Jean's squinting face which split into a massive grin in realization of who was standing there.

“Armiiiin! Où es-tu?  Ha, there you are!”

“What.”

Jean sat up suddenly, slumped against the wall. He took a swig from the wine bottle and sighed, slapping the floor with a rough hand and the same lopsided smile in place.

“Come sit with me, man. We have to talk with you.”

“Who is _we_?”

“You and me! Dumbass.”

Armin cautiously sat down with a roll of his eyes. He took the bottle away and stole his own sip. Ugh, disgusting. The wine was strong, but he could tell it was cheap and meant to get the job done rather than pair with a nice meal. It didn't even have a cork. He winced at a second gulp and Jean snatched it back.

Jean wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and made an incredibly pathetic whining noise when Armin capped the bottle and rolled it away from the pair. They'd had enough. Especially Jean, in the span of the fifteen or so minutes that Armin has spent freaking out in the bathroom.

“So rude. And so rude for running away from me.” He leaned over and into Armin's chest, muttering more in French, that peculiar drunken quirk.

“I'm sorry?”

“You should be! You're so ob-, oblivi? You know the word,” he sighed and slowed down his slurred attempt, “O-bliv-i-ous.”

“Excuse me?”

“I know about you.”

Armin's heart dropped, panic rising yet again. He couldn't run again, not with Jean latched around him with no intention of letting go, like one of those awful prickly things that stuck to your socks when you walked through the woods. He knew? He knew what? Armin pretty much knew _what,_ but what was he going to do with that information? His secret was out and he was trying not to spontaneously ignite in blames and burn away all his fears. Was he going to make fun of him or go further and express his disgust over the crush? Armin needed to escape, desperately.

“This is a fucked up night,” Jean practically sobbed into Armin's shoulder. He inhaled deeply and lifted his head to look at Armin fully. Well, as fully as one could with liquor clouded eyes. “Tu sens bon. Comme, vraiment bon?”

“Did you just smell me?” Jean nodded and went back in to repeat the action, laughing as Armin laughed along with him. Ha! Take that, Eren. The cologne was totally worth it.

“So, so nice. Sorry if that weirds you out but I'm fucking drunk and you're so fucking pretty.”

Armin's eyes went wide, and he gasped harshly. His hand that had been resting on the floor suddenly gripped the carpet at the soft touch of Jean's mouth against his neck. Jean pressed against him more firmly, lips latching on with a deliberate purpose, causing a full body shudder to run through Armin. Jean, Jean, _Jeaaaan._ Maybe Armin muttered the name out loud, maybe not. He could barely breathe, as it was, burning out in waves from the point of contact. He swore he could feel a strange sort of prickling of his skin from the flush on his cheeks all the way down to his curling toes, made worse by whatever nonsense Jean was whispering against his neck. His lips moved in a slow path under his jaw and Armin had to wrench himself away.

“Jean. Ok. Why are you-”

“I really wanted to kiss you. All night.”

“Are you only doing this because you're drunk?” Jean nodded.

Armin made to hoist himself up, but Jean stopped him with a grip on his thigh. He leaned in against, pressing their foreheads together.

“I really fucking like you. Please. We can apologize tomorrow.”

“Apologize for what?”

“Please,” he repeated, mouth brushing so gently against Armin's.

It was convincing enough for Armin, unable to hold his strict self control together with the other's face so close that his features were blurry. He could tell that Jean's wicked grin was set, though, as his eyes lingered on those wine stained lips. For one final, brief moment, Armin tried to convince himself that this wasn't happening, that this was some sick joke. Some guy on the team would jump out from a closet at any moment to snap a picture and out him to everyone in the worst way possible. He wasn't exactly keeping that part of himself secret any longer, but what an awful way to ruin it all, dangling this enticing boy who he very much wanted in front of him only to laugh in his face and leave him devastated in some hallway at a trashy party.

“Stop thinking so much.”

And then Jean grabbed him by the collar and kissed him.

With an initial squeak at the press of lips, Armin melted against Jean, hand flying up to grip Jean's shoulder. He could worry about everything and the intricacies of 'what ifs' and realities later, when things didn't feel so amazingly good, even for how admittedly sloppy the kiss actually was and how much he really didn't know what he was doing. He lost himself in it anyway, delighted and terrified.

Jean made a soft noise against him at the feel of nervous but determined fingers carding through the soft, shorter dark hair at the base of his neck. He pressed back, guiding Armin against the wall. His other hand lifted to cup the side of Armin's jaw, drawing their faces even closer, noses mashing together. Armin drew back finally to catch his breath, only to have Jean immediately try to chase his lips greedily.

He was panicking- Armin was absolutely fucking panicking but he couldn't stop himself from leaning back in. The dizzy, still slightly buzzed feeling layering with the shock og making out with his crush was too addicting to give up. There were so many questions knocking around in the back of his mind, all of which he tried to ignore. Jean kissed back even harder at Armin's momentary lapse back into self-doubt. It was still so sloppy, hurried and desperate with too many interruptions by way of Jean's drunk-stupid smile pressing against Armin's jawline here and there. It drove Armin wild, fighting back with fingers tugging at soft sandy hair.

“I'm the one spinning so much now,” Jean said, laced with laughter. His thumb stroked the dip in Armin's collarbone absently, hand still gripping his shirt hard, keeping them close.

“We should... we should probably stop.” Armin whispered.

Jean responded to that with a gentle bite where his thumb had been, lips and tongue soothing the action. Armin's foot kicked out as he suppressed any incredibly embarrassing noises. Jean was definitely going to leave a mark.

“ _Fuck_ , Jean. C'mon. We gotta stop.” He wants to stop worrying, stop thinking, but they're both drunk (one much more than the other) and they need to stop before they _can't_.

Jean pulls off with one last nip and lingering kiss, face scrunched up in protest. It wasn't very attractive, which helped deter Armin from dragging him back in for more.

“Let's calm down. Go back downstairs. Talk about this later.”

“Ha, where are we now?” Jean was hopeless, so hopeless. “I don't wanna move. Let's stay here.”

“We gotta make sure no one's destroying your house downstairs. Let's go see.” Armin sounded like and absolutely felt like he was talking to a pouting child. “Sound like a plan?”

Jean rolled over and curled up on the carpet. Yes, and he was actually pouting now. Armin took his hands and dragged him up. It was a struggle, but he enticed Jean with the promise of one final kiss before they attempted the stairs.

“This is our secret, ok?” Armin said after one last peck. “Just you and me.”

“That's no fun.”

“Please?”

“Fine, fine. No dirty details, you dirty boy.”

It was childish and immature and so fucking dumb but Armin blushed furiously. He blinked hard, steadied his legs, and started the difficult process of leading a stumbling and handsy Jean down the ridiculous winding stairway. He struggled near the end to support Jean's greater weight, both of them toppling the last few steps into the foyer. Armin was already shaky from their activities in the hallway, but now his legs were completely useless. He lay there a bit, half under a hysterically laughing Jean, and wondered how all of this was his actual life. Drunkenly making out with the football captain and then immediately falling down the stairs with him wasn't one of his original late night fantasies but he felt like he was in a very warped version of... something.

Out of nowhere, with alcohol strength, Jean found his balance and lifted Armin from the floor, attempting to carry him off to whatever destination he had in mind. They looked entirely ridiculous.

“Ahh! Put me down,” Armin pleaded in good fun while Jean spun them around.

“Woah, what the fuck, Jean?”

Eren, of course, chose that moment out of all the time he'd done nothing but sulk all night to wander through the foyer. Armin really didn't want to deal with his particular brand of bullshit. He also didn't want Eren to know what happened upstairs; no freaking way. There was no controlling what Jean might blurt out in his much more inebriated state.

“Eren! I hear him, where is he?” Jean giddily shouted and dropped Armin to the floor in a heap.

He finally stopped spinning around and found Eren staring at him in disdain as he staggered forward with arms wide. What the fuck was he doing? Eren tried to fight him off, absolutely not into playing along with the hugging attempts of a boy he very much disliked. He groaned and spun out of the embrace as Jean continued to grab at him. Armin stepped in and pulled Jean back.

“Get the hell away from me, Kirschtein. God, you two are so drunk. Unbelievable.”

He reached for Armin, deciding that it was time to leave and announced that thought aloud. Jean wasn't having it.

“No! Don't take him from me.”

“What are you gonna do, fight me about it? I'd love to see you try to land a hit in your condition.”

“I'll do it. You don't know shit, buzzkill.”

Gosh, this wasn't happening. It was incredibly embarrassing and Armin elected to simply sit on the bottom stair and wait Eren's incoming temper tantrum out.

“Come on, I really don't have time for this, Jean. Armin, let's leave.” Well, the argument was dropped quicker than he'd expected, but Armin wasn't planning on leaving, even so.

“I'm staying a bit yet.” Eren frowned hard, staring confused at Armin. “Sorry. Bye?”

“Bye? I drove you. How are you planning on getting home?”

Jean sat himself down next to Armin, slinging an arm heavy across his shoulders.

“I'll do it.”

Eren laughed, eyes rolling to stare at the ceiling as he fought off another fit of anger.

“Normally I'd get into it with you over that one, but you're so drunk that I don't even think you'd be able to find your car outside, let alone your keys.”

“Eren, I'll be fine,” Armin assured him. He sat stiff as a board, determined not to lean into Jean's embrace no matter how much he wanted to take advantage of the attention.

“You sure? Fine. Fine!” Eren threw his hands up in defeat and stormed to the door. “Call me if you need me. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow if you're not too hungover?”

“I have your information. We'll talk tomorrow.”

“Cool. Bye, _Armin_.”

He didn't bother addressing Jean, who was too preoccupied with having his face plastered against the bottom banister of the stair railing, drool threatening on the edge of his mouth. Armin waved a weak hand at Eren and leaned over to stare at the pathetic boy he was so enamored with, eventually dragging his sloppy, drunken body over to the living room.

\- - - - - - - -

“Young men, where have you been?” Reiner bellowed at the arrival of his two teammates.

They had been missing for quite a while, at least in the slightly altered reality of party time frames. A majority of the upperclassmen football players had taken up residence in the living room while Armin and Jean had been off making horrible mistakes in the hallway upstairs. Jean mumbled a groan at Reiner's continued loudness and took a seat on the couch next to Armin. He felt like complete garbage and curled up with his head on Armin's lap and his eyes closed.

A late-night rerun of their game was being broadcast on some local television channel, occupying the guys. Those who were interested in watching ti were reliving the plays with excitement, as if they hadn't actively lived the whole thing only a few hours prior. Marco grew bored of the game and wedged himself on the couch next to Armin, smirking at the sight of his best friend.

“Hey, Marco. Really weird party, huh?” Armin timidly laughed, eyes cast down to Jean's dozing form.

“I'd say it's pretty par for the course with this group of morons. What's up with this one?” He patted Jean's hair, getting a sleepy swat from the guy. Marco leaned closer and asked, “Did he, uh, did he say anything to you?

“About?”

“Like... well, you'd know what I was talking about if he did. Nevermind.” Armin wanted to inquire further, but Marco quickly (and loudly) changed the subject. “Ha! He's gonna be regretting this one tomorrow. Right Jean?”

“Marco, _ferme_ _ta gueule,”_ he groaned. Marco laughed, and Jean groaned louder, slurring his annoyance. “Shut the fuck up. J'te niaise pas, swear I'll punch you. Real, real good.”

“Yeah, ok. You do that. I'm gonna go watch more of the game, my totally choice backfield play late in the second should be up soon.”

“Hmm, score for me a touchdown, sunshine.” He was getting worse the harder he tried to string words together.

Marco wandered off to get closer to the TV, joining in on the celebration of something happening in the game. Jean tried to pay attention to the screen, but kept nodding off only to be jolted awake every time Reiner and Bertholdt cheered as if they were watching the Superbowl. Armin watched until halfway through the last quarter, but he'd reached the point where his legs were numb from Jean laying across his lap and his own eyelids were dropping far too often.

“Hey, Jean? Do you have a guestroom I could crash in? I think I'm gonna call it quits and everyone's still super riled up down here. Don't think there's anyone sober enough to drive me home..”

“Hmm? Ok, fine. Force me up. Let's go to bed,” Jean said through a yawn, finally pulling himself up from the couch.

Jean allowed himself to be guided from the room, waving off the guys booing their exit with limp limbs and taunts turned right back at them. The pair laughed about how brutal their hangovers were going to be the next morning as they traversed the stairs and tried not to break any bones on their slow, stumbling climb. Armin shoved Jean on his bed once in his bedroom, planning to set out a glass of water and searching out a place to sleep. The house was huge- there had to be a guestroom in the enormous second floor. Worst case scenario, there was always the couch in the basement where the stoners had relocated. They were a lot more mellow than the screaming football boys. Their faint shouts were muffled, but could still be heard even from upstairs.

“Wait,” Jean called as Armin started to creep away. “Stay here?”

He said it so soft and too sober from his slumped position on top of his comforter, sweet smile stopping Armin in his tracks.

“I'd better let you get some sleep, it'll find somewhere to go.”

“Please? Armin. Armiiiiin.” There was his awful whine and there went his moment of gentle charm. He was a truly pathetic sight. “Keep me company.”

It was such a bad idea.

“Fine. I'll stay. Move over.”

Armin gingerly crawled onto the space Jean had made for him, allowing himself to be pulled flush against Jean's side. He was all tension and stiff limbs compared to the complete pile of jello that Jean resembled next to him. A wandering hand found its way into his hair, twining a few strands around lazy fingers for a moment before stilling. Jean had finally passed out. Armin slid the hand from his neck and remained so bold as to gently tangle their fingers together, feeling brave in now being the only one awake.

He stared at the sleeping face beside him, peaceful and safe to watch unabasedly. So many thoughts and worries stirred in Armin's mind, all too inconveniently sober in the late hour. Sure, they'd both been active participants in what happened earlier, but alcohol was a fickle catalyst for breaking inhibition and fueling tomorrow's heartbreaking excuse.

The long fingers wrapped around Armin's own twitched, as if to hold on tighter. Jean sighed in his sleep, the lucky one of the pair to have found momentary calm. Armin closed his eyes and wished for restful sleep and that same sense of being blissfully dead to the world.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my french is bullshit, correct me if i'm wrong on anything.  
> also my football passion is a little rusty too sooooo HOPE IT DIDNT SUCK

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me on tumblr at [theghostbusters](http://theghostbusters.tumblr.com/) about literally anything


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